


This Town (is a Make-You Town)

by Maeve_of_Winter



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Friendship, Getting to Know Each Other, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, No Homophobia AU, Starting Over, Team Feels, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-05-28 07:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/pseuds/Maeve_of_Winter
Summary: How Kent Parson bonded with his new team, got over Jack, found new love, and learned tolovetolerate Las Vegas.Or, five times an Aces teammate comforted Kent and one time Kent comforted an Aces teammate.





	1. Katzy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gwendolynn_C](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwendolynn_C/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Scar Tissue (That I Wish You Saw)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10437636) by [sysrae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sysrae/pseuds/sysrae). 



> To Gwendolynn_C:
> 
> Thank you so much for your Kent prompts! I was so excited to receive my assignment and see someone else who likes the idea of Kent getting a fresh start. I hope you'll enjoy this story. 
> 
> Title is from Frank Sinatra's "This Town". If anyone's wondering, then yes, it was inspired by that sequence in _Ocean's Thirteen_.
> 
> A big thanks to BigSpicySenpai for volunteering to beta this story! Thank you so much!
> 
> OC Aces are borrowed with permission from “Scar Tissue (That I Wish You Saw)” by sysrae. Go read it, it’s a phenomenal fic!
> 
> And credit to FaiaSakura for coming up with the "Bob Zimmerbobb" joke. Thanks for letting me use them!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!

**1.**

* * *

Maybe it was the timing, maybe it was just him being cynical, or maybe he would have always felt the same way, but from the first time when Kent Parson set foot onto the tarmac of the Vegas airport runway, he found himself glaring at the skyscrapers in the distance, and the gleam of the sun on the glimmering masses of glass and steel made it look like they were glaring back. 

It just plain pissed him off that in any direction he turned, he was surrounded by reminders that he’d been forced to move on and leave Jack behind. Or maybe the Zimmermanns had left Kent behind. Maybe it didn’t even fucking matter, because now he was so far apart from any of them that he might as well have been on another planet and not just playing house with one of the Aces veterans.

By all accounts, he should have loved the city. Any eighteen-year-old would have jumped at the chance to be there, but especially Party Boy Parson, who’d gone first in the NHL draft and now could celebrate with all the drugs and booze and exotic dancers he wanted.

Not any eighteen-year-old had a former best friend and boyfriend who had just OD'ed because the prospect of going second to Kent in the draft was evidently so unbearable that he would have rather died. Not to mention his parents, who had acted like they cared about him when they first adopted him back in Juniors but now didn’t want anything to do with him.

Of course, he was guessing on the “former” part, but since Jack hadn’t ever returned his calls since being rushed to the hospital, the continuation of either their romance or friendship seemed very unlikely.

So Kent found himself in Las Vegas, a city built on lies. Lies filled the casinos that strung along locals and tourists alike with the possibility of winning the jackpot if they played just _one_ more game. Lies were kept alive by the headlining stage magicians who dazzled audiences through their deceptions. And even the drive-thru wedding chapels were fundamentally designed to be a lie, a tacky fantasy that didn’t even offer a legal marriage and basically only existed for drunken photo ops. 

The longer he remained and the more he saw of Vegas, even just the glimpses during camp, the more Kent couldn’t shake a creeping, inexplicable feeling that he was just another part of the Vegas lie. Because none of what had happened—signing with the team, flying to Vegas, putting in his time in training, and then going home with one of his teammates who was a virtual stranger—seemed real to him. 

Nothing seeming real about Vegas was probably a part of the city’s charm for most of its visitors, that everything there from the streets to the sights to the spectacular array of nighttime signs was like something out of a fantasy. This was Kent’s actual life, this city was now Kent’s home for the foreseeable future, and he was getting increasingly irritated that during his entire arrival in Vegas, even the most mundane parts, he felt like was walking in a dream. 

Maybe it was a nightmare. A monkey’s paw type of horror story where Kent got what he’d wanted but had to lose the only family he’d ever known in order to achieve it.

 _“I’d give it all up, you know?”_ he’d told Jack during the final voicemail he’d left for him. The call had been on impulse, in the middle of the night, just after he’d awoken from another nightmare about finding Jack after his OD, but this time, he wasn’t able to save him. 

He’d been crying at the time, in a spectacularly ugly way, gulping for breath and tears rushing down his face, and his voice cracked during his next sentence. “I’d give it all up to be with you again.”

He didn’t know if Jack had listened to that voicemail. He didn’t know if Jack had listened to any of them, or just ignored them in the same way he and Bob and Alicia were now ignoring his calls. The last time he’d spoken to them, Jack was doing well but likely going to rehab—-Alicia and Bob had already picked a place. Then it had been a matter of convincing Jack he needed to go.

Kent had tried calling for an update. They never picked up. He’d tried leaving messages. They never called back. 

Really, it was the realization that his continued voicemails were just giving them the opportunity to ignore him over and over again that made him stop trying to reach out to any of them. Because it was one thing if they’d forgotten about him, if he’d just faded from their minds. It was another if they kept seeing his number flash across their phone screen and getting the notifications of his message but still refusing to have any contact with him. 

Kent had heard of fair-weather friends before. He figured that he was just one of those unlucky bastards who got a fair-weather family, who had taken him in when times were good but had virtually disowned him when times were bad.

And here he was now, in someone else’s house, setting up the room where he was going to live while he played in the NHL and Jack went to rehab.

He forced himself to think of other things instead of dwelling on the Zimmermanns. It wasn’t until he was unpacking that he noticed how worn out some of his clothes were getting, jeans where the denim was almost worn through at the knees and T-shirts that were splitting open at the arms. He’d have to go shopping soon—Alicia had been planning on corralling him off to shop with her before the draft, marveling several times at how what little clothing he hadn’t outgrown recently was quickly “falling to tatters” as he was wearing it, but she’d suddenly gotten called away on a shoot. She’d needed to fly back into Canada when Bob had told her about Jack’s OD. 

Kent would just have to go shopping on his own now. Which was fine. He wanted to get a new suit, anyway. He never wanted to wear the one he worn to the draft again. Maybe if he ended up having a good season, he’d donate it to be auctioned off for charity or something. 

The midst of unpacking was as good a time as any to go through his clothes, so Kent found himself dumping out his suitcase on the bed and opening up the trunk Bob and Alicia had sent to him, grabbing an armful of clothes, and dumping those onto the pile as well. A pang of irrational guilt ran through him at the mess he was making of Katzy’s minimalist and ultra-modern guest bedroom, with its carefully monochromatic curtains and bedspread and trendy geometric furniture. But he pushed the feeling aside; it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to clean it up later.

The first to go were the pairs of ratty jeans with the knees busted out of them; they might have been in style at Abercrombie, but Kent was hyperconscious that they make him look like he couldn’t afford better, especially since there had once been a time when that had been true. Next were the shirts that are barely still holding together, and then were the obviously faded shirts in dark blues, reds, and black, their color beginning to seep away thanks to too many hours in the sun and cycles through the washing machine.

He was methodically sorting through the shirts, vaguely pleased with himself for being able to accomplish _something,_ even a small task like this one, and get organized and settled in his new home. Then he lifted up the next shirt, a red one, and unfolded it.

His heart almost stopped, and then it began racing.

It was Jack’s beloved Habs shirt, the well-worn logo on the front cracked and fading. Barely a week had gone by without Jack wearing it at least once.

Bob or Alicia must have mistakenly packed it along with Kent’s clothes. It probably had gotten mixed up in the laundry.

But, even as his mouth went dry and his started hands trembling, Kent wondered if one of them had deliberately placed it there as a memento, a tangible reminder of all the good times he’d had with Jack, that he’d had with the entire family, before he and Jack were torn apart. Maybe it wasn’t rational, but he found himself desperately wishing the reason he had the shirt with him now was because they wanted it that way.

Lifting the shirt to his face, Kent inhaled deeply, hoping to catch even a trace of the minty body wash Jack always used, the one that inspired him to tease Jack about always smelling like toothpaste.

But there was nothing beyond the faint scent of the lavender laundry detergent that the Zimmermann’s housekeeper preferred to use. 

No matter how the shirt had found its way into his luggage, Kent ended up just being faced with a fresh reminder of the new gaping distance between himself and Jack.

Kent didn’t realize he was shaking until his knees began buckling beneath him, and he hastily pushed the pile of clothes further up the bed so he’d have a place to sit down. Sinking down onto the mattress, he buried his face in his hands, trying to calm himself, but suddenly it was like a giant fist was squeezing his lungs and preventing him from drawing in another breath. It was a struggle to get oxygen into his lungs, and he began panicking, his pulse pounding through his veins.

“Parser?”

Kent might have been fighting just to breathe, but he wasn’t so entangled in the battle that he couldn’t inwardly cringe at his brand new teammate seeing him a total mess. Fuck, he wished he could have made a better impression.

He only caught a glimpse of Katzy standing in the doorframe. For just a moment, his broad-shouldered and bulky six-foot-four form was outlined by the sun streaming in from the large windows on the far side of the room, before he realized what was happening and strode over to sit down beside Kent without hesitation. 

“Put your head between your knees,” Katzy instructed gently, pressing firmly on Kent’s back with an enormous hand. “Gets the blood pumping to your head.”

Kent did as instructed, embarrassment heating his cheeks at his vet needing to rescue him from a fucking T-shirt, of all things. But to his eternal gratitude, Katzy offered no comment about the situation, instead simply rubbing Kent’s back in soothing circles and talking to him in a low, reassuring voice. When Kent was able to sit up straight again, he tried to thank him, but Katzy brushed it off.

“You’ve had a real long day. It’s no wonder you needed a minute,” he said, still rubbing Kent’s back. The scent of his warm, spicy cologne wrapped consolingly around Kent like a soft blanket. “Don’t worry about it all, okay?” He pulled away from Kent for a moment to look at him directly, his hazel eyes serious. “I’m here for you, Parson. We’re all here for you.”

Kent nodded, still self-conscious no matter what Katzy had to say. He supposed he should have just been grateful that his trouble breathing hadn’t caused Katzy to accuse him of using drugs—that idea was still going strong in the media, as was talk about how much of a risk Kent was for the Aces, that he might OD, just like Jack. A lot of the guys at prospect camp had talked about it—some when they thought he was out of earshot, while others asked him right to his face. 

Katzy never so much as mentioned the possibility. Instead, he looped an arm around Kent’s shoulders, drawing him in so close that his short beard scraped against Kent’s temple. It was the first since honest-to-God embrace anyone had given Kent since before the draft.

“You need something to eat,” he said decisively, rising from the bed and coaxing Kent to stand with him, never letting go of his shoulders and beginning to gently guide him out of the room and into the hall. “C’mon, I got a whole pan of baked spaghetti and meatballs waiting in the oven.” 

“Baked spaghetti?” Kent repeated. He’d never heard of that kind of food before.

“Uh-huh, and it’s real good, lots of mozzarella cheese.” Katzy tossed him an appraising glance. “You’re too skinny, Parse. But now that I’m cooking for you, we can take care of that.”

Warmth sparked in Kent’s chest at the words, and even as he cautioned himself against getting too attached too quickly and repeating his falling out with the Zimmermanns, he couldn’t suppress a surge of hope at how readily Katzy extended his friendship to him. 

Vegas might have been a city of lies, but it seemed like his teammate was honestly glad to have him around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!


	2. Swoops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!

**2.**

* * *

The very next night was a team barbecue at the captain’s house. Kent had already met Bracky during his final day at camp when it became clear he had the drive and talent to play for the Aces, so he tried to tell himself he wasn’t nervous, but his stomach was twisting as Katzy pulled his SUV into the driveway of the large Spanish Colonial house that was already surrounded by luxury cars.

He was amazed by the house; the architecture and design, with its red-tiled roof and huge with stucco porch lined with archways was like nothing he’d ever seen before, not in Montreal and certainly not in Buffalo. Katzy barely seemed to notice it, though. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty unusual that we have parties here,” Katzy told him as they made their way to the backyard, following a terracotta walkway lined with dense succulents of all colors on either side. “Fender just redid his deck last summer and he’s always taking over any party and having it there so he can show off and brag about, I don’t know, whatever kind of wood he used, the jackass.”

Kent nodded, but his heart was in his throat as he struggled to stay calm. This would be the first impression he would make on his teammates, his first chance to convince them that he wasn’t the drug-addled hedonist the media had made him out to be. He needed to show them that he had the talent but not the ego, that he could be just one of the guys, that they should want him even if his own family didn’t. And he knew that a lot of the team was going to be skeptical, that they were gonna need a lot of convincing.

The captain, Bracky, didn’t seem like he was one of those guys, greeting Kent with a hug and a slap on the shoulder before encouraging him to grab a beer and some food, but Kent knew better. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Bracky, and he thought he was being pretty nice to him, all things considered, but he also knew that Bracky was going to be evaluating his performance with the team, both on the ice and off, assessing how much of a risk he truly was for the Aces.

The Aces were still a new team, still establishing their culture. A scandal with Kent could taint their image for years to come and they all knew that. He couldn’t escape the suspicion that they were all watching him, ready to spring into action if they thought he posed a threat to their reputation.

So Kent gave a friendly pass on the beer, going for an ice-cold water bottle instead.

“I should rehydrate before anything else,” he said to Bracky, knowing several of his teammates were within earshot. “Still haven’t gotten used to this heat.”

While Kent was famished and desperately wanted to get something to eat, when Bracky offered to introduce him to the guys, Kent accepted readily. He knew he might as well get it over with, finding no reason to put off the inevitable scrutiny any longer.

Danno and Mads were closest to his age, the two of them in their second year both in the NHL and on the Aces. They’d been rookies together last year, and when Bracky told him as much during the introductions, Kent felt a sliver of envy that they’d had someone else their age who had been going through the same exact thing and who could relate to their experiences. He was the only rookie on the Aces this year. He had no one to lean on, no one with any kind of life that could have even remote parallels to his. 

They had obviously heard the rumors about him (Then again, at this point, who in the hockey world hadn’t?), and maybe it was just that youth gave guys a certain boldness or insensitivity, because they asked him about Bob right away. 

“So, like, you were really adopted by Bad Bob? For real?” Mads asked, lifting up his Oakleys to get a better look at Kent. “That’s pretty cool.”

Just the mention of the name sent a stab of pain lancing through Kent at the same time as his heart jumped and his pulse sped jerkily through his veins, making him feel detached and unsteady.

“Yeah, that’s, like, every hockey kid’s dream, having an NHL legend decide he’s gonna be your dad,” Danno added, shaking his golden brown flow in amazement. “Is he gonna be here for our first game?”

Kent racked his brain with for reply, and, after what seemed like a lengthy pause, only could offer a noncommittal, “I’d have to check with him and see.”

Thankfully, Bracky must not have been any more comfortable with the conversation than he was, because he steered Kent away seconds later to introduce him to a cluster of vets that Katzy had joined. Kent couldn’t help but be pathetically grateful.

A strange nagging feeling, like he had walked out the door of his home and had forgotten something but didn’t know what, crept over Kent as he shook hands and made basic small talk with his new teammates. It wasn’t until near the end of the introductions that he was finally able to place it. 

He missed Jack, he realized, the vague sense of absence suddenly replaced by a startlingly intense longing. He’d always been the one to drag a reluctant Jack along to social events with their team or school, whether it was meeting up some classmates at the movies or going to a teammate’s house with a few of the other guys to sneak beers in the abandoned barn just past the backyard. Even for the Zimmermanns’ annual Christmas party or a reunion of Bob’s former teammates, Kent was always there at Jack’s side, ready to play the role of the smooth charmer that Jack couldn’t be. Jack had never been keen on social situations, and while Kent had always figured Jack’s anxiety was the reason, Jack had never confirmed it. Regardless, Kent had always been willing to be his lifeline, always ready to support him and bridge the gap that seemed to exist between Jack and most other people.

After doing that for such a long time, it felt bizarre to be here at a party without Jack, like a part of himself had been left behind, like he’d lost a limb. As the feeling only increased the longer he was there, Kent found his stomach twisting as he wondered about how, even if he hadn’t overdosed, Jack would have coped on a new team and meeting more than a dozen new people at once. If he would have coped. If he just would have overdosed after the draft, maybe during the season, instead. And then what that would have meant about Kent.

Some of his distress must have showed, because after they finished the next round of introductions, Bracky pulled him aside, studying him. 

“You all right?” he asked, raking his gaze up and down Kent’s face. 

“Fine,” Kent answered automatically. He didn’t need to cause himself any trouble by telling his captain just how much time he spent living in the past. “Like I said earlier, it’s hot out here.”

“Hmm.” Bracky didn’t look convinced and grabbed a Gatorade from an ice-filled cooler, pressing it into Kent’s hands before taking him to the last group. “Drink this down to the label.”

Kent just shrugged and obeyed; there was no reason to argue and have the team captain think he couldn’t take direction.

Not all of the guys were there for Kent to meet; some of them were out of state, visiting family or finishing up vacations. But the guys Kent met all seemed pretty cool, even if they were more than a little obvious about their appraising glances, trying to determine right off the bat if he was going to cause them trouble one way or another, either with drugs or with partying or being too arrogant about his accomplishments back in Juniors to work with the team. 

The least cool and most evident of his critics was Javvy, a guy in his late twenties who Kent had noticed watching him almost the entire time Bracky had been showing him around. He barely smiled when he met Kent, instead looking him up and down with disdain apparent in his light brown gaze, stirring an automatic defensiveness within Kent.

“Been down to the Strip yet?” he asked Kent in a voice with just slightly too much effort behind it to be casual.

“A couple of times when I was at camp,” Kent replied, carefully keeping his voice level despite instantly recognizing where this line of questioning was going. “We got to hit a few shows on their dime.”

“Lotta things to do while you’re down there,” Javvy commented, his eyes narrowing at him. “Plenty of bars, plenty of clubs, plenty of girls and boys ready to play . . . . plenty of ways to party, if that’s what you want to do.”

“Maybe I don’t want to party,” Kent offered, keeping his voice mild. Inwardly, his temper was rising; he was hungry, he was stressed, and he was sick of being raked over the coals by everyone for one single stupid decision Jack had made.

A muscle in Javvy’s jaw twitched. “Well then, you certainly have a reputation to work off, don’t you?”

“Javvy,” Bracky said warningly, placing a supportive hand on Kent’s shoulder. It was the kind of paternal gesture Kent normally would have found irritating, but now he was grateful for it. 

“I’m not planning to spend a lot of time on the Strip,” Kent informed him, an edge escaping into his voice as he raised his chin challengingly. “I’ve heard Fremont Street is better, anyway.” 

“I can show you Fremont Street,” a newcomer said, joining their group. It was a younger guy, a few years older than Kent, with dark brown hair and the typical tall and muscular hockey build.

“Oh, hey, Swoops,” Bracky said, sounding relieved for the interruption. “Swoops, this is Kent Parson. Parson, this is Jeff Troy. We call ’im Swoops.”

Swoops offered Kent one of the two plates he was carrying. “Feel like eating something? I noticed you didn’t get a chance to have anything yet.”

Though he was desperate for something to eat, Kent didn’t let on about his hunger. “Hey, Swoops. Thanks. Yeah, I could eat something.”

Bracky nodded approvingly—Kent had no doubt that he was glad to see him socializing with one of the guys on the team so soon. “That’s good. Go eat, Parson. And let me know how the burgers are—the rub I used for them is a family recipe.”

Kent followed Swoops to an unclaimed table on the edge of the patio, underneath the welcome shade of some kind of overhead trellis swathed in lush climbing vines. Kent was so hungry that he tore into one of his two burgers the instant he sat down, devouring more than half of it before he registered that Swoops was speaking to him.

“Don’t pay attention to Javvy,” Swoops reassured him in between sips of his double IPA. “He’s been with the Aces since it started—so have I—and he’s a little bit protective of the team. He should chill out once he gets to know you a little bit.”

Gulping down his bite of burger, Kent took a moment to assess Swoop’s face (which was handsome, in an angular way, he couldn’t help but notice), observing the earnestness in his dark eyes. He didn’t have the luxury of not paying attention to the teammates who didn’t like him; he needed to keep track of his skeptics and turn them into allies, even begrudging ones. He wouldn’t survive long here if he didn’t. But even as friendly as Swoops had been, Kent saw no reason to tell him as much.

“I look forward to it,” he said conversationally. “In the meantime, was there anything in particular that had you riding in as my knight in shining armor, or is it just natural instinct for you?” 

He kept his tone casual enough, but he watched Swoops carefully, interested in what his response would be, and he internally arched an eyebrow when Swoops shifted around in his chair uncomfortably and cleared his throat before responding.

“My mom really liked Fremont Street when my parents visited me last time, and her birthday is coming up,” Swoops said, clearly trying to be offhanded. “I wanted to spend a day down there to find her the perfect present.”

It wasn’t strictly a bad lie, but Kent spotted it right away. Nonetheless, he decided to let it pass, both because he was well aware that he needed all the friends he could get at the moment, and because he was flooded by a rush of bittersweet memories of shopping for Alicia on her birthday and trying to find a gift that she would both want and didn’t possess already. He’d felt so out of place, a kid from the wrong side of the tracks trying to find the ideal present for a woman who’d spent her entire adult life surrounded by luxury.

“Then let’s go,” he said simply, offering Swoops a placid smile. “After all, we can’t have your mom thinking that you’re too busy playing hockey to remember her.”

* * *

Just a few ays later, the pair of them made their way down to Fremont Street, and it didn’t take Swoops long to locate an Aztec-looking turquoise necklace and a set of matching earrings for his mom. But he was adamant that they should spend the rest of the day of the day there, and even though Kent knew it was clearly for his own benefit, he found himself agreeing. 

Swoops was a phenomenal tour guide, showing him the bronze medallions embedded in the street of Freemont East, taking him to The D to root for the mechanical racehorses at the Sigma Derby slot machine, and even wrangling them a spot on a brewery tour. While Kent approached lunch somewhat warily, wondering about tourists and wait times and the typical Vegas flashiness, Swoops picked a fantastic gastropub that turned out to be the ideal kind of understated, all unfinished wooden surfaces and Edison bulbs dangling from the ceiling, with incredibly delicious food. Kent got to try a gyro for the first time in his life—even if it did come in the form of a taco. He even took a photo of his plate, and then a selfie with himself and Swoops, to immortalize the moment.

It wasn’t until late in the afternoon, when he was wandering the Container Park with Swoops and a strawberry daiquiri in hand, when it occured to Kent just how happy he was, how long it had been since he’d got to spend a day just being carefree. That he got to spend the day with a _friend._

_Friend,_ he realized with a jolt as he ambled along the path beside Swoops, a welcome breeze rippling at his shirt. You didn’t spend an entire day with any random asshole, even if they were your teammate. For Swoops to spend not just the morning with him, but to get lunch him and then cocktails and then spend the day doing touristy crap with him—he must have actually wanted Kent as a friend.

God, Kent couldn’t remember the last time someone had picked him as a friend. He and Jack had just kind of fallen into their groove together, on the ice and off, and from that day forward, they’d always come as a pair. Anyone who’d wanted to hang out with one of them (well, anyone who’d wanted to hang out with Kent, since Jack’s intensity intimidated most of the other guys), had known they would get both of them.

Swoops was different. Swoops had picked him.

Kent turned to study Swoops, wondering why he’d bothered, and was just about to offer some kind of low-key thank you, but his breath caught in his lungs as his gaze landed. Swoops had taken off his hat and sunglasses for a moment and was letting the breeze ruffle his hair, no doubt to cool off, and damn, with his hair getting swept around by the wind like that, he looked _good._ Kent found himself startled by the heat coiling low in his stomach at the sight.

And when Swoops caught his gaze, Kent’s heart began pounding, and it continued to pound even though he only suggested some mundane evening plans.

“We should find someplace to eat soon,” he commented. “Grab some dinner before all the tourists converge on the good restaurants.”

“Yeah,” Kent agreed, hoping his voice was more steady than he felt. 

With Swoops’s words bringing him back to reality, Kent had to roll his eyes at himself. He’d just been dumped by a teammate—in the most disastrous and damaging way possible. The hell was he thinking, suddenly wanting to go chase after a new one?

Swoops wasn’t the only one to show him the sights. A lot of the guys spent time with him, almost like they were on a rotating schedule. Bracky drove him out to the Grand Canyon for a day, Razzer took him out to see the Atomic Testing Museum, and Kent was even able to talk Katzy into going to First Friday with him, even if neither of them really “got” art. Danno and Mads offered to show him the Mob Museum and then ate lunch with him in the speakeasy restaurant beneath, before finishing out the day at the Pinball Hall of Fame. Kent even found himself invited to tag along with Fender and his family for a day out at an amusement park, which surprised him, because Fender had young kids and Kent was widely rumored to be a coke fiend.

After spending much of the day wondering why Fender and his wife would let a potentially dangerous and destructive teenager come to a family outing, it was on the bumper cars with Fender’s giggling five-year-old daughter that Kent realized that every time hanging out with his teammates had been a test. Like an extended interview process. Rather than writing him off and assuming the media had pinned him down correctly, the guys were feeling him out to try to what kind of guy he really was. That’s all it had been.

It stung a little bit when it occurred to him that none of the guys were showing him around out of, like, the goodness of their hearts or because they wanted to be around him. Especially Swoops—the idea he’d been pretending to be his friend brought an unexpectedly sharp pain to pierce through Kent’s chest; Kent had really and truly believed he’d enjoyed being with him, that their interactions had been Swoops’s choice. Now, Kent doubted that. Maybe he’d just chosen to believe Swoops wanted to be his friend because of his own loneliness.

 _Goddammit._ He should have known better. 

At least his teammates were willing to give him a chance to prove himself instead of believing whatever the media had about him, Kent reminded himself. And besides, the guys were honestly pretty likeable. They didn’t behave like they thought he was some addict whose days before disgracing the team were numbered, or that putting up with him in the interim was a pain in the ass. And to his credit, Swoops certainly didn’t act like it was a chore to hang out with him; he always seemed happy to be there, and he went out of his way to plan things with Kent.

_Swoops._

And it wasn’t just Swoops who was happy to be with Kent. Kent really enjoyed their time together, whether it was exploring Chinatown or going hiking at Red Rock Canyon. He felt drawn to Swoops in a way he hadn’t felt since . . . since . . .

Since Jack.

He should proceed with caution, Kent knew, not repeat his same mistakes and get overly involved and emotionally fucked up all over again.

There was such a warmth to Swoops, a friendly easygoingness that Jack had definitely never had, and dammit, Kent just _wanted_ to be around Swoops so badly. 

He didn’t know that any of it was real, Kent tried to remind himself. Swoops might have just been hanging out with him all along because Bracky told him to.

Yet deep in his heart, Kent yearned to believe that Swoops had chosen to be around him because he wanted to be.

One night, just before preseason began, Swoops invited Kent to go with him to see the light show at the Neon Museum. They got the guided tour in the daytime, with Kent snapping pictures of the various signs, from Stardust to Sassy Sal’s to Lady Luck. Maybe he’d use one of them as his header photo if he ever went back to using Twitter. 

The light show wasn’t maybe the most incredible thing he’d seen in Vegas, but it was definitely what he liked best. The glimmering, flashing lights, combined with the swell and rhythm of the music, absolutely dazzled Kent, and he found himself entranced even though he’d been fully prepared to fake being impressed for Swoops’s sake. But there he stood, stunned at the spectacular array of colors and lights around him. It was the first time he ever actually enjoyed one of the more Vegas-y parts of Vegas.

“You had fun, then?” Swoops asked, a hint of teasing in his voice as they exited that night.

“Yeah,” Kent responded, because it was true, and he wanted Swoops to know that he had, but a strange sadness had overcome him as he’d watched the lights flicker in time to the music.

Swoops paused, slowing his pace to stare at him, and Kent couldn’t quite discern his expression in the dim light. “Something wrong?”

“I—” Kent started, but he broke off when he realized he didn’t know how to finish.

He thought he knew what was wrong. That even as dazzling as the light show had been, he wished he’d had someone to share it with. A friend, a family member. Jack, back before his OD, before Kent knew he would Someone he could know for sure actually liked being around him and wasn’t just babysitting him to make sure he wasn’t spending his days and nights getting high.

But he couldn’t tell Swoops as much. Or could he?

Part of living in a gambling town—hell, part of life—was knowing when to keep your hand to yourself and when to show it. And now, Kent decided he didn’t want to have his one strong connection to his team be based on a lie. He wasn’t part of Vegas. He’d rather just have the truth.

Letting out a deep breath, he looked up at Swoops, trying to read what he could on his face. “I had a lot of fun tonight. I have fun every time I’m with you. But you don’t have to keep making excuses to try to keep me out of trouble. I know Bracky is probably calling the shots here, but feel free to just tell him I’m not the druggie the press makes me out to be.”

Swoops reared back, clearly taken by surprise. “It’s not like that.” 

Kent shrugged. “It’s okay if it is,” he said, not letting on how desperately he was hoping for Swoops to tell him he was wrong.

“No,” Swoops insisted. “Look, I mean—fuck. Okay, yeah, Bracky did ask ask us all to spend time with you, but it’s not because we don’t trust you or don’t want to get to know you. You’re eighteen years old, you’re on your own in Las Vegas, and you’re pretty obviously having issues with your family.”

The mere mention had Kent on the defensive. “Oh, thanks for the reminder,” he snarled, any goodwill toward Swoops immediately evaporating.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean it that way, I swear.” Swoops anxiously combed a hand through his dark hair. “It’s just—look, you’re talent, Parse. Big talent. And there are a lot of ways for any kid your age to go wrong in Vegas, and none of us wanted that happening.”

Kent’s anger faded when he recognized Swoops’s sincerity, replaced by something he couldn’t quite name. 

“Yeah?” he asked as casually as he could, but his pulse was racing with—what? Fear, dread, excitement? He didn’t understand what he was feeling.

“Yeah,” Swoops said emphatically, moving closer to Kent. “We care about you, Parson. That’s why we’re doing this. We want you on the team, not busted down to the Farm because of something stupid.”

Swoops was getting closer and closer, and Kent’s heart was hammering so hard that he could barely draw in breath, and then Swoops put a hand on his shoulder, closing the distance between them, looking directly at Kent, and then—

“We’re all looking out for you,” Swoops told him earnestly. “And we’re looking out because we care.” 

With that, he drew Kent into a solid bear hug, leaving Kent almost too shocked to move. 

Admittedly, it was a little bit disappointing—for a moment, he’d been sure Swoops was going to kiss him. But any disappointment faded as he found himself wrapped in Swoops’s warm, strong embrace, a simple but reassuring gesture in the wake of the Vegas’s ephemeral glitz and glam. It was such a nice feeling, just to be held. He’d forgotten what a relief it could be, how it felt like a burden had been taken off his shoulders for a few minutes.

“Thanks,” Kent told him when they eventually separated. “I mean it. For taking me here, and for letting me know about the team.”

“Anytime,” Swoops replied with a mischievous grin, snatching Kent’s snapback off his head and ruffling his hair before donning the hat himself and running off, forcing Kent to yell and chase 

after him.

Katzy was still awake when Kent got in that night. Sitting in a futuristic-looking armchair and reading a book, it was obvious that he was waiting up for him. It was very dad-ly, and Kent almost snorted out loud at it, but for the first time, he found himself fully appreciating what Katzy had done for him. He’d opened his home to Kent without actually knowing anything about him but his talent and the rumors and that his own family didn’t want him anymore.

That night, he gave Katzy a tight hug before he went to bed, which Katzy was quick to return, though he wore a bemused expression when he did.

“What’s this for?” he asked, arching an eyebrow even as he let his arm stay draped across Kent’s shoulders. 

Kent just shrugged, unable to quite explain the impulse after it had been ignited by Swoops’s hug, but glad he did it all the same. “Just wanted to say thanks. I know you took a risk by letting me into your house. And I’m just. Grateful. That’s all.”

Katzy smiled at him. “Well, we’re glad you’re here, Parse.”

Before bed Kent took a shower. As he stood beneath the warm spray, he closed his eyes, imagining the feeling of Swoops’s strong arms around him once more. He allowed himself a small smile as Katzy’s words and Swoops’s reassurances echoed in his mind. 

He almost, almost convinced himself that it was better that Swoops had given him a hug instead of a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!


	3. Danno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!

**3.**

* * *

Even by the time of their first game of the season, every face in the entire goddamn hockey media still wouldn’t shut up about the whole sad, sordid story of Kent and Jack. They always regurgitated the same tired details about his relationship with Jack. The speculation of how close they were. The Zimmermanns’ decision to adopt Kent when he was in Juniors. And, of course, Jack’s overdose combined with Kent going first in the draft. Kent would have thought they’d have run out of material by now. Especially since he put his personal twitter and Facebook on private back before July. 

But it seemed like every day some other jackass dragged up a picture from a year ago of Kent hanging out with Jack at the boardwalk or of the Zimmermanns and Kent having a family barbeque. And then everyone even vaguely within the realm of sports media wanted to weigh in and give their opinion about Kent’s relationship with the family (formerly _his_ family). 

He missed each one of them, all in different ways. He missed Jack’s cautious touches and tentative kisses, always uncertain and afraid he was doing something wrong until Kent encouraged him and asked for more. He missed Bob’s laugh and his warmth and the way he would casually sling an arm over Kent’s shoulders when he was within reach and how he couldn’t go to the grocery store without bringing home the latest trendy herb or spice or superfruit to try. He missed walking to the sun porch and finding Alicia there when she was home, glasses on as she sat curled up with a hardback novel, a steaming mug of ginger tea waiting on the polished cherry coffee table in front of her.

His chest ached at the very thought any memories with them, because he had a horrible sense of certainty that they would only stay memories, growing dimmer and more distant with each new day.

There was also a lot of talk in the press about drugs, which Kent honestly preferred to talk about the Zimmermanns. But sometimes they got mixed together, like reporters guessing the reasons the Zimmermanns had exiled him was due to drug use. Kent hated _those_ stories with a passion. He’d rather just have the normal drug accusations. 

And there was _a lot_ of talk about drugs. Speculation about if Kent was using, if he’d used regularly with Jack, if they’d been using together the night Jack had OD'ed. Everyone wanted to talk about it.

Except for Don Cherry, who only wanted to rant about how much he hated Kent’s snapbacks, especially the floral print ones.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Danno told him encouragingly as he and Kent made their way into the locker room, Kent feeling dangerously close to beating someone with their own Blackberry after being pestered by reporters for the umpteenth time about if he were still in contact with Bob and Alicia and if Jack’s situation had strained their relationship. “They’re like any reporter. They need drama to live. Literally,” he added, taking a break from brushing back his flow to point at Kent emphatically. “So they want to sell this drama-filled story about an old hockey legend and his family to a bunch of fans who are gonna lap up every word. It’s like a hockey-centric version of _Keeping With the Kardashians_.” 

“Yeah, and about just as classy,” Kent grumbled, still thoroughly irritated. But even as frustrated and angry as he was, he still couldn’t help a tingle of satisfaction at Danno’s attempt to offer advice, especially since neither Danno or Mads were exactly known for their sensitivity.

“But would you know class, Parson?” ribbed Yaks, one of their bruiser d-men, as he came up from behind them and made his way to his own stall. On the way, he cast a dubious glance at the extremely tacky playing card-patterned snapback Kent was wearing, one that he’d found in a tourist trap and purchased explicitly because of how hideous it was. “I am thinking Don Cherry has the point about your special hats. The thing hurts my eyes. Like staring at sun.”

Kent rolled his eyes at him, but he was secretly grateful for the normalcy of the chirping, glad that the guys were still treating him like nothing was out of the ordinary. “Like I’m going to take lessons in good taste from Cherry. Or you, for that matter. That cologne you practically bathe in smells like the inside of a new car. It’s like you’re one of those freaky human-car hybrids from that Pixar movie.”

“My kid loves that movie!” someone else chimed in, but Kent was pulling off his shirt and couldn’t see who it was.

“My cologne is good stuff!” Yaks protested. “Tuscan Leather by Tom Ford!”

“You’d be better off just getting some kind of fancy leather jacket,” Kent informed him teasingly. “And as a bonus, it won’t pollute the air around you like your cologne does.”

“Yeah, yeah, Parser wants you to buy a fancy leather jacket so he can steal it and make it into fancy leather snapbacks,” Danno added, thumping Kent good-naturedly on the shoulder. “First your jacket, Yakker, and then he’s coming for Cherry’s fucking ugly suits.”

“Hey, someone needs to save the rest of the world from them,” Razzer called from over at his stall. “Might as well be Parser.”

* * *

Later on, when Kent was out with a few of the guys at some tiki bar, Danno grabbed him and warned him again.

“Listen,” he said, sitting across from Kent but leaning so close that Kent could smell his breath. Coconut liqueur, pineapple, and rum, from that drink the cute bartender recommended and that Danno then ordered, probably just to impress her. “I mean what I said about not letting this stuff in the news get to you. It’ll go away soon enough.”

There was something he wasn’t telling. He had a tense look on his face, and his fingers drummed continually on the table.

Kent lounged back in his chair and let his eyes rake over him for several heartbeats, making no secret that he was assessing him.

“You know something,” he stated calmly, hoping it would spur Danno into giving up everything he had.

Danno hesitated, brushing a hand through his long hair, his eyes flicking back and forth nervously to check that no one else was in earshot before motioning him forward again, pressing his lips almost right to Kent’s ear to speak.

“I overheard some of management talking a little while back,” he said, speaking so quietly Kent had to strain to hear him. “And I got the gist from that conversation that all this stuff about drugs, it’s, well, it’s coming from inside the house.”

Pulling back from him momentarily, Kent gaped at him for a few seconds in disbelief. Aces management had those rumors going about him? _Why?_

Shaking off his shock, Kent leaned forward to speak to Danno again, intent on getting answers. “What’s the end game here?”

“I dunno, not exactly.” Danno licked his lips. “But it has to be because they want people to believe all of it, right?”

Kent’s mind was racing as he tried to puzzle out management’s strategy, but he couldn’t forget who’d given him the tip in the first place. “Thanks for telling me,” he murmured to Danno. “I owe you.” 

The rest of the night was spent nursing his drink as Kent tried to find a thread of reasoning as to management's motivation. Toward the end of the night, he thought he had it: his reputation could work both ways for the team. By convincing the world he was a self-absorbed maniac from a shattered family who partied too hard to practice, if he played well, the Aces had an advantage in their first few games until his image cleared up and players started taking him seriously. He would be their secret weapon. But if he proved a liability, they could easily shunt him off, saying he’d had drug problems from the start thanks to his tumultuous family life and they’d always predicted that he’d give them problems. It was the element of surprise versus catering to established expectations. 

Maybe part of it was a test to see if he would live up to the expectations they’d created. If he’d become the party boy they’d already cast him as, making this whole setup a self-fulling prophecy, or if he could shake off the criticisms and scrutiny and get to work with his team.

Fine, then. Management wanted the world of hockey to be surprised when they saw him on the ice? Kent would throw the biggest goddamn surprise party they’d ever seen—because he was a party boy, after all. 

Then and there, he resolved that he was going to give the Aces best fucking game of his life and force all of the media mouthbreathers to talk actually talk about his accomplishments and not whether he’d been written out of Bob and Alicia’s will or if his thus far unsubstantiated drug use had ever allowed for it in the first place.

Some rookies got a goal in their first game, and it was considered an accomplishment. Two was even better, but uncommon, and three was exceptionally rare. Four was unheard of in the modern era. 

So Kent made a point to earn four goals. And not only did he fight tooth and nail and win them, but he also got an assist with Katzy. They beat the Penguins seven to three.

Management and the media could each other’s fucking hearts out, as far as he was concerned.

Suffice to say, he was feeling really fucking good about himself when the clock ran out and his teammates clustered around him, whooping and cheering and as many of them trying to wrap their arms around him as possible. Kent didn’t think he’d ever gotten as many hugs in his entire life as he did on that night. His shoulders were sore from all the jostling, and his mouth ached from smiling so hard, but Kent couldn’t recall a moment within the past three months that he’d been happier.

Even better, Swoops grabbed Kent’s bicep as they came down the tunnel, shoved his way between Kent and some of the other guys, and pulled him into a one-armed hug. 

“You were phenomenal out there,” Swoops told him, not with the same gleeful grin the other guys were wearing, but with a smile that Kent wanted to believe seemed softer, more tender. “Glad you’re here, Parser.”

“Glad to be here,” Kent barely managed to reply before being almost tackled to the ground by more teammates running up to hug him.

Swoops just laughed at their antics before going on ahead, but even when he’d gone, Kent could still feel warmth crawling up his cheeks and coiling in his stomach.

When the team went out to celebrate that night, Kent begged off from the club the younger guys were heading off to and stuck to a more low-key bar that the vets favored, with low lights and scrubbed wooden tables and, as sworn by Katzy, the best skillet-made mac and cheese he’d ever taste in his life. Surprisingly, Danno came along with them, even though Kent would have figured he’d go off to a club like he typically did.

One of the bar tables their group snagged was right by the overhead TV, and Kent made sure to slip the waitress a fifty so she’d bring him the remote. He flipped through the channels until he found a recap of the game and then settled back in his chair, victory flowing through him, and waiting to hear an actual discussion of his talents instead of yet another rehash of Jack’s OD.

Danno was sitting beside him, his gaze flicking back and forth between Kent and the TV, and Kent had just a moment to enjoy the quiet companionship between them before the cameras cut back to the sports anchors.

“There’s been a lot of debate about if Parson still would have gone first in the draft even if Zimmermann had been there,” one of them was saying. “I think his game tonight pretty clearly demonstrated that no matter what the answer would be, the Aces still signed an incredible player.”

“But who’s to say we wouldn’t have gotten a better game from Zimmermann if he’d been signed?” posited a second anchor. “It’s quite unfortunate that we’ll never know the answer. A good portion of the hockey world was burning with curiosity to see what Bad Bob’s son would achieve his first game when he was fresh from the Q, and now we’ll never know.”

“You have to wonder how Bad Bob feels about Parson’s game,” a third put in. “Obviously, Parson is clearly enormously talented, but this night must be a little bit bittersweet for Bob, with our sources saying that Jack Zimmermann is currently at an in-patient rehab center. It makes me wonder—and we don’t have any details on this, because no one from the Zimmermann family is answering our questions regarding this issue—if Parson’s spectacular performance tonight is going to cause an even deeper rift between himself and the Zimmermanns than it already has. It’s very noticeable that Parson’s been in Vegas for months now without any sign he’s in contact with the Zimmermanns.”

As the anchors continued to throw theories back and forth, a slow-burning but all-consuming rage began simmering in the pit of Kent’s stomach. How _dare_ they. How dare these pathetic, trussed-up jackassess speculate on Kent’s abysmal family life like it barely mattered, talk about Jack like they knew him at all. Fuck, their job was supposed to be commenting on the _game._ Why couldn’t they just focus on the amazing game he had played? The game to which all of the Zimmermanns, but especially Jack, were totally irrelevant?

He went to turn off the TV, but his hand was shaking too violently for him to press down the button. Even though the team had already known, even though the press had already made sure the entirety of Las Vegas was well aware of his family problems, suddenly Kent was overcome by a sense of raw vulnerability, like all his secrets and worst fears were open and exposed for his teammates to see. He didn’t dare look around him; he didn’t want to see how many of the guys are watching the anchors revel in his failed relationships or Kent’s own reaction to it.

Danno noticed it, though. After only a few seconds of Kent’s fumbling, he roughly swiped the remote from Kent’s hand and changed the channel before pushing the device away. Then he looped an arm around Kent’s shoulders and leaned in close to speak right into Kent’s ear.

“Listen to me, Parson,” he said, his gentle tone one Kent never would have expected from him. “That stuff up there, on the TV screen? Doesn’t matter. Nothing they say about you matters. What _you_ did tonight matters. You got four goals during the first game of your rookie season. And no one, no one can take that away from you.” He finished by giving Kent’s shoulders a squeeze with his powerful arm. “You’ll be all right. You’re gonna get through this.”

Danno’s calming voice registered first, soothing Kent’s anger, and when the logic in his words fully hit him, his anger faded away, but he was left exhausted and still frustrated. 

He just wanted to play hockey. Just to play hockey and prove all the naysayers wrong. Why couldn’t they let him do that? Why couldn’t they shut up about Jack and Alicia and Bob, especially if none of them were even talking to reporters and hadn’t for months?

Regardless of if he was fed up or not, he was impressed by Danno’s continued support and also immensely grateful for it. It was nice to know that someone around him didn’t buy into the hype, didn’t look at him and think that he belonged in Vegas, that it must be his personal playground. 

His teammates weren’t like the media, and they weren’t the typical Vegas tourists. They weren’t swept up in Vegas’s tricks and deceptions; they didn’t insist that one thing was true while it was demonstrated to be false right before their eyes. They could see his game clearly, and they knew he had what it took.

Management seemed like they sucked, but his teammates definitely didn’t.

“Thanks, Danno,” Kent said, managing to offer him a wry smile. “Get us both another drink? It’s on me.”

Danno flashed him a grin. “Fucking A,” he said, standing. But before he left, he gave Kent one last squeeze on the shoulders.

Kent idly watched him go before his gaze automatically scanned his teammates, wondering self-consciously if they’d seen his little bout of melodrama. But most were in conversation with each other, and he couldn’t tell if they witnessed it or not.

Except for Swoops. He was two booths down, crammed into a corner by Razzer, too far for shouting distance. Instead, he deliberately caught Kent’s eye, offering him a smile that seemed . . . proud? Before raising his glass to Kent in a toast. 

Kent felt his face grow hot, embarrassed and also pleased at Swoops’s small but unmistakable tribute, and when Danno returned with their drinks (more fruity cocktails), he had to fight the urge to press the ice-filled glass against his warm face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!


	4. Yaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!

**4.**

* * *

December was a great month for Kent, even with the holidays looming ahead. It might have still been early in the season, but their team was on fire, on a winning streak, and Kent was helping them do it—hell, he was _leading_ it. And he couldn’t help but feel really damn proud.

He smiled so much these days—an actual smile, not just his polite media smile. He smiled after games, he smiled with fans when they spotted him in public congratulated him, he smiled when he was out with the guys.

Yeah, he had arrived in Vegas under scrutiny, surrounded by rumors and what-ifs, and his own goddamn management had been already in the process of throwing him under the bus. But here he was, the leading point-scorer on his team, with that team now having rocketed up to being close to the top in the league. Kent had taken to buying himself a Rolex with each victory.

Fuck Vegas with its lies and illusions; as far as Kent was concerned, the truth had won out. Now people knew that he could play hockey, that he deserved to go first in the draft and hadn't just been an unworthy runner-up who’d only had the place he did because Jack hadn’t been there to take it.

Commentators and hockey figures could speculate all they wanted about what Jack might have done and what his stats would be if he hadn’t OD'ed. Kent was the one who’d actually gone first and was actually scoring points and raising his numbers. All the woulda-coulda-shoulda where Jack was concerned didn’t make one bit of difference to what was actually happening. 

He’d be lying, though, if he said a part of him didn’t ache for Jack sometimes, to feel Bob’s hand on his shoulder and hear Alicia’s genteel laugh. He’d give his entire NHL salary just to have more carefree day with them at their lakehouse, one more family cookout.

Maybe his problem was that he’d always just been too sentimental, or maybe he just wasn’t sentimental about the right people. 

The upcoming holidays had the Zimmermanns on his mind more than ever, even as he tried to distract himself from it, and it was impossible to ignore that none of them had contacted them about Christmas. While both Katzy and Bracky had invited him to celebrate with their families, Kent had declined, unwilling to accept a pity invite and intrude on their holiday, and also not sure he’d be able to cope with the constant reminder that he himself no longer had a family. 

It was tough to see and hear all of the excitement from everyone else, though, especially his teammates. All the players from the US or Canada were either visiting relatives for Christmas or had families already in Vegas for them to gather together with. When he went out for drinks with his teammates, Kent found himself stuck, morosely listening to the guys talk about their holiday plans. Kent was silent, having nothing to contribute, but tried not to draw any attention to himself about the matter. He didn’t want to mention how he was doing absolutely nothing for the holiday, and he wanted pitying glances or awkward attempts at encouragement even less.

Still, he must not have kept as good as a poker face as he’d been hoping, because Yaks clapped a large hand on his shoulder and leaned in to talk to him.

“Is okay that you not going anywhere for holiday,” he told Kent without preamble. “Plenty guys stay in city. Happens on every team, every year. I am also not to leave city.”

Kent’s face burned when Yaks first started speaking to him, desperately wishing his emotions weren’t so easy to read, but his embarrassment changed to curiosity at Yaks’s admission.

“You don’t want to visit your family?” he asked, hoping the question didn’t come across as tactless as it sounded to his own ears.

Yaks took a swig from his drink before responding. “Want. But can’t. You see, flight to Russia be more than fourteen hours. But then add time spent first waiting at airport in Vegas and time spent driving home from airport after flight lands. Is almost an entire day for travel. Would have to have that twice in three days. Not enough time.” He finished his explanation with a small shrug.

“Huh.” The wheels in Kent’s head were turning, and he was slightly ashamed to admit that he’d never given any thought to what the Europeans on the team would be doing for the holidays. And not only was there Yaks, but there was also Sunny, who was from Finland, and then the Swedes, Wolfie and Razzer. 

Even as an idea was taking shape in his mind, Kent returned his attention to Yaks.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, because it was all he could think of saying, even as it made him cringe a little bit. “It’s not fair that you don’t get a chance to see your family when everyone else does,” he added, a note of frustration slipping into his voice, being able to relate a little bit too close to Yaks’s issue for comfort.

“Our Christmas not until January, so I miss it either way because of the season. But would still like to see family. So yes, is disappointment.” Yaks gave him a smile that was a little bit too sad and a little bit too knowing. “But we survive, huh?” 

He extended his beer bottle to Kent for a toast, and Kent clinked his water glass against it (Every other time when when he was out with the guys he avoided alcohol entirely, just to remind them of his self-control). They then both took long pulls of their drinks, but Kent set his down first, trying to gather up the courage to ask Yaks about his idea.

“You, me, Sunny, Wolfie, and Razzer,” Kent began. “Would any of you—do you think, maybe—” he had to pause to collect his thoughts, fight down his uncertainty, and start again. “What would you think of all of us having Christmas dinner together? Since it doesn’t seem like any of us would be going anywhere?”

Yaks’s eyebrows rose. “The American Christmas dinner, you mean? With ham and potatoes?”

“I bet we could get it catered,” Kent remarked. The Zimmermanns always had their holiday dinners and parties catered, and Kent was already thinking of the different restaurant options he could choose from. “And we could make sure all of the food we pick fits with our diet plans. And it wouldn’t have to be American food. I bet we could find a Russian place, if you wanted a meal from home.” With a stab of self-consciousness, he realized that he was rambling on while Yaks hadn’t even offered an opinion. “I mean, if you think it’s a good idea. If not, it’s not like we have to do it or anything.

But Yaks beamed. “I think you have fantastic idea. We have the dinner on Christmas at my place, even if it just you and me.”

The promise alone sent Kent’s heart soaring (A teammate actually wanted to celebrate Christmas with _him,_ and just him if it came down to it), but when Christmas Day rolled around, he was utterly delighted to sit down for dinner with all four of his European teammates. And he thought the Christmas decorations he’d brought, two large potted cactuses strung with flashing Christmas lights, really added to the ambiance.

Before they ate, Yaks called a toast.

“To the Aces’s season. May we go ahead onward with our streak,” he said, raising his glass. He cast a smile Kent’s way. “And to Parson, who started idea for the dinner today.”

Wolfie raised his glass as well. “To Parse, who seems like our good luck charm for this season.”

“Yeah, to our little leprechaun!” Razzer teased, jostling Kent’s shoulder playfully. “Or maybe he should be Christmas elf? Tiny and festive?”

“Shut up, you’re going to make me spill my wine!” Kent warned him, mostly to cover how red his face was getting red as a blush crawled across his cheeks thanks to their compliments. A thrill zinged through him at his teammates’ praise, and suddenly he was sure that there was no place in the world he would have rather spent Christmas than with them.

Sunny chuckled at their antics, as he, too, lifted his glass. “To good people and good friends, new and old,” he said looking directly at Kent as he spoke, and Kent could feel his face glow like the setting sun, unsure of what to do with all the kind words being heaped upon him, from men he just now realized didn’t just see him as a teammate, but an actual friend.

“Cheers, all,” he could barely manage to grate out, thrusting his glass forward and clinking it with each of theirs, and he didn’t even feel self-conscious at the ripple of laughter at his total lack of eloquence.

When dinner was over, Kent volunteered to clean up the kitchen as the rest of the guys tramped up the lounge that was on the second floor of Yaks’s split-level apartment to chill out and watch TV. As he worked alone in the kitchen, boxing up the leftover food and scraping the table scraps off of plates into the trash, he wasn’t able to block out memories of the previous two Christmases, the only other happy ones in his life. The ones he’d spent with the Zimmermanns.

They’d always thrown a massive party on Christmas Eve, with every inch of the house and yard done up in the most breathtaking decorations Kent had ever seen. While Kent usually tried to make a point of socializing with all the guests, he’d always kept an eye on Jack, always ready to help him out of a tight spot in case the number of people and conversations were overwhelming him. And when they were, Kent would grab a few cups of cocoa and load up some plates with food, and they’d slip outside to have their own nighttime picnic underneath the stars. And since Montreal in December was usually cold enough for hell to freeze over, so they usually needed to cuddle for warmth, which neither of them ever minded. 

In contrast, Christmas Day was usually much more relaxed, with their dinner mostly being party leftovers with a few special dishes Alicia had commissioned particularly for that night—tourtière, smoked salmon with charred oranges, and a Yule log with pouding chômeur for dessert. Kent could still recall the savory, tangy flavor of the salmon. Last year, after dinner, he and Jack had been tasked with clearing and washing the dishes, and they’d laughed as they’d done so, working in the Zimmermanns’ warm, bright kitchen as Christmas songs played over the radio.

Looking back at the memories, they seemed a little bit saccharine to Kent, like something out of a happy montage in a Hallmark Channel Christmas movie, something that existed in idealized fantasy but not real life. But it had been his life. Temporarily. 

Now, Kent found himself wondering, his throat growing tight, what each of the Zimmermanns were doing for Christmas. If Jack was home from rehab for the holiday, or if he’d ever been convinced to go there in the first place. If Alicia was away for work, out on a shoot, and had just chosen to stay there for the holidays because that was less painful. If Bob had gone out to the far reaches of their extensive property and chopped down their Christmas tree himself as he’d done every other year. If they’d had their party or any kind of celebration at all.

The tightness in his throat only got worse as he picture the Zimmermann house dark and empty for the holidays, even as a very ugly part of himself sent a faint prick of spiteful glee that all of them might be miserable after leaving him out in the cold for so many months. And that feeling stubbornly remained even as much as he tried to push it away.

“Parser?”

Kent gave a guilty start as Yaks ambled into the room; he’d been so caught up in his own head that he hadn’t heard his approach.

“Hey,” he said, kind of lamely, giving a little wave and sending a few suds flying off his fingers. “Come to supervise?” he joked, but his voice came out kind of strained.

“Come to help,” Yaks said decisively, reaching for one of the dirty plates from the stack. “Rude to leave guest to clean up alone.”

Kent wanted to protest, to tell Yaks he’d already done enough just by letting them have the dinner at his house, but he was surprised to find himself grateful for the company. 

“Thanks,” he said sincerely as he added several of the wine glasses to the top rack of the dishwasher.

Several minutes passed in relative quiet as they worked, Yaks rinsing the plates while Kent scrubbed off any stubborn leftovers before adding them to the dishwasher, too.

Yaks was the one to start a conversation again.

“I tell my family of our dinner together,” he said to Kent. “They glad to hear it. Glad that I celebrate with Americans even if I can’t be with them for our Christmas.”

Unsure of what to say, Kent aimed for flippancy. “If your family is happy, Yakker, than I’m happy,” he replied with a grin he didn’t feel but hoped looked suitably genuine.

Yaks nodded. “Family is happy for each other when far apart. Even if one family member has something other does not.” 

The words sparked a suspicion in Kent’s mind, and he turned to look at Yaks directly, knowing he should be grateful for his teammate’s attempt at comforting him but unable to help being slightly annoyed at the unsolicited fortune cookie-style pearl of wisdom. 

Suddenly feeling exhausted, Kent gripped the edge of the sink and stared down into it. “Is there a moral to this story?” His voice surged out of his throat much harsher than intended, and he winced. He didn’t mean to be an asshole, especially not to someone who was obviously trying to be nice to him; he just couldn’t help but feel touchy about this particular topic.

Yaks set down a newly-cleaned plate in the sink, drying his hands on a dish towel before using his thumb and forefinger to lift Kent’s chin and force him to meet his eyes.

“I am not with my family now, but will be soon enough, when season ends,” he told Kent softly. “And soon, you be with family, too.”

Kent did sigh this time, gently pushing Yaks’s hand away. “Haven’t you seen the news? My family already decided to disown me for snorting too many lines.” The irony of their situations struck him in that moment, and he couldn’t help but feel like it was unfair for Yaks that he had a family who actually wanted to see him but was too far away, while Kent had a family comparatively close but who never wanted to lay eyes on him again. 

Yaks scoffed at that. “Parson not use drugs. Reporters always ask about you, if you be addict, if I see you use. And the first words I always speak to them is that I never see any one sign that you do and that I don’t think you are. That is what any of us say when reporters ask.”

A small noise of disbelief emitted from Kent’s mouth; he didn’t know any of his teammates were being asked those kinds of questions anymore, not since he actually started playing, and he certainly didn’t know his teammates were out there defending him about it. A swell of gratitude toward them rose within his chest, especially since the rumors they were adamantly refusing were the ones perpetuated by Aces management in the first place.

“Thank you,” he said to Yaks, somewhat embarrassed that his throat grew tight again even as he spoke. “For sticking up for me. I won’t make a fool out of you, I promise. My life is far too boring to be using as many drugs as the media has me doing, anyway,” he added, trying for humor.

Yaks laughed, even if the joke wasn’t very funny, and responded by pulling Kent close against his broad chest, folding him into a hug, not caring if Kent’s hands were still soapy. 

“Family make mistake about you,” he told Kent softly. “They will realize. Maybe they already do.”

Kent’s throat was too tight to speak at all now, and he had to fight back the press of tears that were suddenly burning at the back of his eyes, so he couldn’t argue. Instead, he just nodded along as he returned the embrace and wrapped his arms around Yaks’s tall, broad form. His face pressed into Yaks’s strong chest, and he could inhale the scent of that ridiculous cologne he still didn’t like.

As he and Yaks stood in the kitchen, embracing like he and Jack might have embraced last Christmas or the Christmas before that, Kent found himself desperately hoping that his teammate’s words were true.

* * *

After saying goodbye to his teammates for the night, Kent drove over to the airport to pick up Katzy, whose flight was scheduled to land within the hour. This time when Kent was at the airport, even as he walked past the rows of slot machines, Vegas didn’t seem as terrible of a place as it had when he first arrived. After all, it had allowed Kent to celebrate Christmas with his teammates when he otherwise would have moped and spent the holiday alone.

Of course, he reminded himself, trying to keep his emotions in check, he could be on any team anywhere in the US, and his teammates from Europe probably still wouldn’t have been able to go home. It wasn’t like Vegas was special.

The buzz of his phone in his pocket snapped Kent out of his musings, and he automatically fished it out, expecting to see an update from Katzy.

But his heart froze as he saw the name and message displayed on the screen.

**_Bob Zimmerbobb:_ **

_Hope this Christmas finds you well. Thinking of you and wishing the best for you in the new year._

_—With love, Bob & Alicia _

The text wasn’t especially personal beyond the last line, but Kent insisted to himself that just because the words were generic didn’t mean the sentiment wasn’t heartfelt. 

Inhaling shakily, he had to close his eyes to stem the swell of tears, gripping the phone with both hands.

At last, he had a lifeline.

For several minutes, Kent concentrated on his breathing, trying to contain the deluge of excitement, relief, caution, and elation sweeping over him. It had been half a year, but finally, the Zimmermanns were reaching out. They wanted to be in contact again.

With trembling fingers, he tapped out a careful reply that ended up being packed so full of banalities it made the Zimmermanns’ text look Pulizter-worthy. But he didn’t want to come on too strong and scare them off. He wanted his family to want them again

**_Kent Parson_ **

_Thinking of you guys, too. Merry Christmas, and I hope you got everything you hoped for, or that you get it in New Year. I’d love to keep in touch with you both._

He read over it about a dozen times, questioning his word choice, wondering if it looked passive-aggressive, before he realized he had no idea how to improve it. Finally, he just went ahead and sent him, rationalizing that he’d gone without contact with them for this long and that he could do it again if he needed to.

Pulse pounding, Kent awaited a response trying to keep himself calm.

He didn’t have to wait long. Within thirty seconds, Bob replied.

**_Bob Zimmerbobb._ **

_Thank you, son. Take care. We’ll be in touch._

He shouldn’t take the text at face value, Kent knew. They were supposed to be family, but they hadn’t been there for him for the past six months.

Still, he couldn’t prevent a smile from tugging up his lips.

_We’ll be in touch._

Bob said they’d speak with him again. And Kent believed it.

Glancing up from his phone, Kent pocketed it, only to reach for it again and read the text one last time. Then he sat back on the bench, waiting for Katzy to walk in from the gate and looking around at the airport.

Maybe Vegas was special, just a little bit. Because now Kent couldn’t help the feeling that Vegas was starting to feel halfway like home.

* * *

“Hey,” Swoops said, lingering by Kent’s stall at the end of their next game. 

Another victory for the Aces, care of another one of Kent’s hat tricks. 

“Hey,” Kent replied, smiling at him and hoping the skip of his heart didn’t show in his voice when he met Swoops’s eyes. 

All of the other guys had left by now to celebrate. It was just the two of them. Kent tried not to be too aware of this fact.

Swoops plopped down next to Kent, withdrawing a brown paper gift bag printed with black-inked nature scenes. “Happy belated Christmas,” he said, handing it to Kent. “It’s all yours.”

Opening up the bag, Kent pushed aside the tissue paper and found a life-size plush toy of a semi-realistic great horned owl. 

He couldn’t help but grin as he ran his fingers down one fluffy wing and then flicked a finger at one of its yellow glass eyes. “Look at this guy. Damn, ain’t he menacing? Totally badass.”

Swoops chuckled. “He is a scary-looking thing, isn’t he? Guess we’re just lucky that he’s the symbol of our province. I’m from Alberta,” he added, by way of explanation.

“He’s magnificent, thank you,” Kent said sincerely. Self-consciously, he tacked on, “But you’re way too thoughtful. I didn’t get anything for you.”

Swoops put a hand on Kent’s thigh, and Kent tried not to inhale sharply at the touch; the contact with Swoops sent tingles racing down his spine.

“I think you’re plenty thoughtful, too,” Swoops told him, dark eyes friendly. “You know, I heard Wolfie talking about the dinner you guys planned together before break. He was so excited about it. I know it really meant a lot to him that you helped him feel at home.”

Excited by the praise, his heart hammering that Swoops thought well of him, that Wolfie had been excited by the dinner, Kent cleared his throat awkwardly, knowing he should respond but not sure how. “That still doesn’t change that you got me a gift and I have nothing for you,” he pointed out, cringing at how ill-suited of a reply it was.

“Tell you what,” Swoops said with a smile. “Instead of getting me a present, you can do me a favor. I want us to go someplace this summer—maybe Alberta, maybe someplace else, if you have another place in mind. But I just think it would be cool for us to go somewhere together.”

His request left Kent somewhat stunned. _Him?_ Swoops wanted to take a vacation with _him?_

“The summer’s a long way off,” he pointed out, wary that Swoops might change his mind about him sooner or later. Bob and Alicia had. Jack had. 

“Oh, uh . . .” Swoops looked away. “If you don’t want to go—” 

“No, I do,” Kent rushed to tell him. “I was just—like—if something happens with me, with those rumors about me, I don’t want you to feel obligated to stick by me. Like, feel free to choose self-preservation, you know?” 

Selfishly, he was begging for Swoops to reject what he had to say, to clench his jaw and insist he wanted to be with Kent through thick and thin.

Swoops did not disappoint. 

“I _want_ to stick by you,” he told Kent without a moment of hesitation. “No offense, Parse, but you’ve already gotten fairly slaughtered by the press back before the season even started. I’m not backing away now.”

“Oh.” Feeling a blush rising in his face, Kent tried to disguise it by busying himself with throwing the last of his gear into his bag.

“Thanks,” he said when he had finished, standing up. He recalled what Yaks had said the day before about players getting questions about his drug use and always refuting them. “Thanks for sticking by me.”

Swoops let out a little laugh and drew closer, bring Kent’s mouth to grow dry and his eyes to widen. As Kent stood there, frozen, Swoops pressed his forehead to Kent’s, just like a lot of guys did for their buddies. Like friends did with friends.

“Anytime, Parser,” he told him with a smile. “Anytime.”

Then he pulled away, leaving Kent to fight down the delight curling through him at Swoops’s closeness.

And just as he thought he had himself back under control and definitely in no danger of kissing Swoops and screwing up his life by getting involved with a teammate again, Swoops threw an arm around his shoulders as they began walking out the door. 

“Check our group chat and see where the guys are, would you?” he asked Kent. “I feel like celebrating.”

 _Maybe we could find our own place to go celebrate,_ Kent imagined himself suggesting for a full five seconds before dismissing it entirely.

Swoops was his friend. All he wanted to be was friends. Kent would be an idiot to jeopardize that. 

Besides, he thought, with a nagging sense of dread, before he could even think about getting a new boyfriend, he needed to figure out what was going on with his old one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!


	5. Javvy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!

**5.**

* * *

_“Jack. Jesus. I can’t believe—it’s so good to see you—”_

_“Why are you even here?”_

The hotel elevator dinged as it arrived on his floor, the doors sliding open. It took every ounce of energy Kent could summon to straighten up from where he’d been leaning against the wall and drag himself out into the hallway. God only knew how he managed the drive back—his phone had estimated that it would only take about forty-five minutes from the car rental place, but with the traffic from the game, it had nearly been two hours both ways. 

Kent could never remember being this drained before, this numb, like he was totally running on empty. At least during the draft, he’d been somewhat excited even as he’d been devastated by Jack’s OD. He could remember the sensation he was being pulled in a tug-of-war between the two extremes throughout the night.

Now, he just felt incredibly damn tired. And like there was barely a point in waking up again once he went to sleep. 

Standing there on the threshold of what he hoped to Christ was actually his hotel floor, Kent stared hopelessly down the corridor directly in front of him and then at the one that veered off to his right. He couldn’t remember which way led to his room, and he was so weighed down with exhaustion that he didn’t think he would even be able to make it down one corridor, let alone check one, find it was the wrong hallway, and then need to trudge down the other one.

_“I wanted to see you. You, Bob, and Alicia. Look, I know things didn’t end great, but I really think—”_

_“You shouldn’t have come. It’s not . . . listen, I never wanted you to—I wasn’t expecting you to show up all of the sudden.”_

At the far end of the hall straight ahead, Kent spotted a couple emerging from their room. Right. Even though it was past midnight, there were still a few people around, going back and forth, always there to notice him. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this, looking and acting half out of his mind—not unless he wanted a repeat of those rumors about him being an addict.

He had to move, and he didn’t want to come face-to-face with anyone, so he took off down the hall to his right. Every step was a struggle, each footfall an increasing reminder of how damn tired he was, but he kept moving, and when black spots began to cloud the edge of his vision, he blinked them away.

Thank God the plane wasn’t leaving until tomorrow morning. Pilots’ union rules or something like that had the Aces staying overnight in Montreal after their game against the Habs. Most guys had gone out to celebrate their win, but after going back and forth on the idea for almost a month, Kent had decided to take a chance and show up at the Zimmermanns’ house.

He’d been texting with Bob and Alicia for the past few months. Just a few lines here and there, innocuous remarks about the weather and the city he was visiting that week, sometimes a photo if he could get a good picture of whatever sights. They texted back with advice on the best restaurants and bars to check out if he had the chance, or enthusiastic comments on the photo he’d sent.

It was all very careful, very tentative and fragile, so much so that maybe he shouldn’t have taken the risk and tried to visit them. But a part of him had been desperate, a part of him had wanted to see if they’d welcome him into their home again when he was standing there face-to-face with them. So he’d gone.

He’d only seen Jack there. He didn’t see Bob or Alicia or even know if either of them were home. But seeing Jack had been enough.

_“I should’ve called. I know that, I know. But you never took my calls, none of you, and none of you ever responded to my voicemails. I mean, jeez, were you even getting them?”_

_“I did. But listen, there’s a reason I never called you back even though you were calling me every day.”_

God, Kent had been such an idiot. Why had he even thought dropping by unexpectedly would convince any of the Zimmermanns of anything? What had he thought he would gain?

Caught in the blur of his anger and embarrassment, Kent almost walked straight past a set of double glass doors separating another hallway of rooms. Another choice between going straight or going right. Dammit, this place was a maze.

Was his room past these doors? The question stood as a solitary thought in his mind, and Kent honestly couldn’t remember if he needed to walk through the doors or not, and just thinking about it made his brain seem slow and foggy. Suddenly, he found an irrational wave of panic coming over him at not being able to remember. Christ, the hell was wrong with him? All he wanted to do was collaspe on his bed and not have to think about his sick, sad life anymore.

Just as he was debating his next move with himself, his indecision cementing him to the spot, a figure walking towards the doors on the other side of the glass caught Kent’s attention. The profile registered in his weary brain as somewhat familiar, but it wasn’t until the other person was pushing the door and looking at Kent with a vaguely contemptuous expression that Kent’s sluggish mind could place him.

It was Javvy.

Of course. Of fucking course. The only worse teammate to see Kent looking like an absolute wreck would have been Bracky, but only because he might have alerted management. Kent still was sure he would have gotten much more sympathy from him than from Javvy.

At the sight of him, Javvy stopped dead, looking him up and down, extremely unimpressed. “Where the hell were you? Troy wouldn’t leave any of us alone when no one could find you—it was like you just disappeared.” 

_“Could I come inside for a minute? If Bob and Alicia are here, could I just see—”_

_“You need to go. You have to leave. I can’t take this. Things are just getting back to normal for me, and seeing you makes me think they’re all going to get fucked up again.”_

Kent wasn’t sure that he’d be able to speak. He hadn’t spoken a single word to anyone since he’d tried to reason with Jack at the house, tried to apologize and promise they could work things out, that he’d make sure to put Jack on the fast track to an NHL career. 

“Doesn’t . . . matter.” The words sounded strained and slow even to his own ears, and did nothing to quell Javvy’s suspicions.

He stepped forward, closing in on Kent, a scowl already on his face. “Are you drunk? Were you out getting drunk by yourself?”

Kent’s hands were shaking; his entire body was trembling, he realized, and he need to start moving, because he didn’t know how much longer he could stay upright. He wasn’t going to be able to deal with Javvy. He didn’t have the energy to fight or defend himself. He didn’t think he could cope with more accusations or personal attacks tonight. And he really wanted to tell Javvy to go straight to hell, but he felt one step away from the edge already, and Christ only knew what would happen if the argument with Javvy pushed him over it.

“Not drunk,” he managed, and with a Herculean effort, he stepped around Javvy and walked on to go through the doors. He didn’t bother holding it open for Javvy, secretly hoping it might slam shut on his fingers, if only so he would just leave him alone.

No such luck. Javvy followed him, wrenching the door open behind him and escaping unscathed. He dogged Kent’s footsteps every step down the hall.

“Bullshit you’re not drunk,” he challenged Kent. “You can barely walk or talk. God, how many people saw you getting trashed? Are we going to have to damage control about this?”

Though sorely tempted to wheel around and sock Javvy directly in the jaw, it was already taking all of Kent’s energy to concentrate on finding his room—his key card didn’t have the number. 

Javvy must have been losing patience with him, because he grabbed Kent by the shoulders and roughly steered him up the hall and stopped in front of a door. “You’re in 447. In between Danno and Mads.”

Kent didn’t know enough to argue, so he just tried to nod as he fished his card out of his jeans. But the motion brought a surge of dizziness to overwhelm him, and before he knew it, he was swaying on his feet.

Swearing angrily, Javvy grabbed him around the waist with one hand, holding him up, and snatched his keycard out of his palm with the other hand, deftly sliding it into the card reader. The lock opened with whir, and Javvy pushed Kent inside and sat him down on the bed before kneeling in front of him.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

Kent heard the words, he knew Javvy wanted him to do something, but he couldn’t register what.

 _“Don’t be like that, Zimms. I missed you. Goddamn, I missed you so much, so many times. Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me, that you don’t miss_ us _. Please don’t say that. Don’t say that.”_

 _“It’s not that I didn’t miss you. I_ did _miss you. But I think we’re better apart. And I know I’m better without an ‘us’.”_

His lack of response seemed to annoy Javvy, who reached out and roughly grabbed him by the chin, forcing Kent to look directly to his pale brown eyes, shifting his head back and forth as he squinted at Kent.

“Did you take anything?” he demanded. “Buy anything from someone? If you did, you have to tell me. I’m not letting you bring down the Aces just because you get us goals, Parson.”

Even as exhausted as he was, a stab of anger at Javvy pierced through Kent, and he wrenched his face away. The motion brought him to nearly tumble off the bed, and Javvy had to rush to catch him and sit him back down. Another wave of dizziness crashed over Kent, and he had to bury his face in his hands to stop the walls from tilting, trying to quell the vague nausea that was rising in his stomach.

“I didn’t take anything. Don’t use,” Kent insisted, his voice barely scraping out of his throat.

Javvy snorted. “Like hell you don’t.” And even if Kent couldn’t see the disgust on his face, he could hear it in his voice.

He could hear Javvy moving away from him then, and then the sound of a bag unzipping reached him—Javvy was trying to see if he could find what Kent had been using. 

Pushing through the haze in his mind, Kent lifted his head and went to draw in a deep breath, ready to tell Javvy to fuck off—but before he could, Javvy was sitting down next to him, a Gatorade in his hand. For a moment, Kent didn’t understand, but then he realized that Javvy had taken it from his bag. He hadn’t been looking for drugs; he’d been trying to get Kent something to drink.

Unscrewing the cap, Javvy thrust it at Kent, but then didn’t let go right away when Kent accepted the bottle.

“You got it?” he asked, watching Kent speculatively. 

“Yeah,” Kent said, lifting the bottle to his lips, and wishing that he was too tired to feel embarrassed that his teammate had to see him so weak and barely able to help himself.

Taking slow, painstaking sips, Kent tried to drink as much as the Gatorade as he could, but his stomach felt too tight and queasy to manage very much. Putting the bottle aside, he stumbled to his feet, very conscious of the sugary drink entering his stomach—he thought he might be sick.

_“You can’t mean that. Jack, I love you. You love me. What we had together—we can have that again. Just give me a chance.”_

_“Fuck you, you know that? You always think you can rush in and fix my problems, pave the way for me, like I can’t do it myself. I know how to help myself, okay? And I know what I want. Well, I_ don’t _want your help, and I don’t want_ you _.”_

“Parson?” Javvy questioned, still watching him with narrowed eyes.

Kent didn’t bother to answer him—he couldn’t have spoken even if he wanted to. He just launched himself off the bed and dashed into the adjoining bathroom, not caring that the sudden movement almost made him lose his balance and sprawl on the ground. 

He slid on the tile floor to crouch down by the toilet, sure he was going to heave what little was left in his stomach into the bowl, but then he suddenly realized that he didn’t just feel sick, he felt hot. His skin was burning painfully, like an inferno was blazing in his blood, and Kent suddenly found himself struggling to breathe at the intensity of it.

Desperately, Kent lurched over to the tub, twisting the faucet to the coldest setting available before pulling the lever to switch on the shower. He ripped off his snapback and had just managed to pull off both shoes and socks when the fire in his skin became too intense to wait any longer, and he dragged himself into the tub, almost tripping over the edge and smacking his face on the tile wall. He managed to catch himself in time, but he barely thought it was an accomplishment.

The icy water of the shower poured down onto his skin at full blast, soaking into his clothes and hair. The sound of the water’s spray filled his ears, and it took him several moments before he registered the sound of a fist pounding on the bathroom door.

“Parson! You all right?” The fist pounded again, the doorknob rattling. “ _Parson!_ Open the goddamn door!”

It was Javvy, Kent realized dimly, the cold of the water beginning to numb his face, yet not seeming to affect the burning in his skin whatsoever. He wanted Kent to unlock the door. Funny, Kent couldn’t recall locking it in the first place.

Jack had locked the Zimmermanns’ door right after he’d shut it closed right in Kent’s face. And Kent had simply stood there frozen in shock. He’d somehow managed to stagger back to his rental, and it wasn’t until he’d returned it to the parking lot and caught a cab from there that his disbelief faded and the devastation had crept in.

He had lost his family. The Zimmermanns really did want nothing to do with him.

Since he’d begun texting with Bob and Alicia, he’d been hopeful. He’d thought they could repair their relationship, mend everything till it was as good as it once was. Seeing Jack today had been absolute confirmation that he had no future with them whatsoever.

Kent started shaking, his frame wracking with such violent tremors that he needed to sit down, and it wasn’t until he did that he realized he was sobbing. Cold water continued to rain down over him, a stark contrast to the warm tears that he couldn’t stop from gushing down his cheeks.

He’d lost them. He’d lost everything. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know what he could have done to have kept them in the first place. He didn’t know what he’d done to drive them away.

He didn’t know how long he remained there, curled at the bottom of the shower, not sure his legs would be strong enough to carry him if he tried to stand, but at one point a resounding _crack_ filled the air, and the door crashed open. And then Javvy was there, putting an arm around his shoulders and talking to him in a soft voice he’d definitely never used with Kent before.

“Hey, hey, Parson, it’s all right. Let’s get you out of there.”

The water switched off, and it occurred to Kent that he was shivering, but he was too tired and upset to care about his discomfort. Javvy must have, though, because he wrapped a large, fluffy towel around Kent’s shoulders, and then, once he coaxed Kent into standing, around his waist. 

While vaguely aware Javvy was helping him out of the bathroom, Kent wasn’t really sure what was happening even as Javvy sat him down in the corner armchair and peeled off the towel and then his shirt. He dimly noticed the scrape of the terry cloth as Javvy finished drying him off, but he could barely keep his eyes open anymore, and as he noticed Javvy beginning to rummage in his bag again, he finally stopped fighting and just let them close.

* * *

The next morning Kent was awoken by someone shaking his shoulder. He groaned a protest, already able to feel weariness and tension in his limbs, but whoever it was wasn’t giving up.

“C’mon, Parson, wake up. We have a plane to catch.”

Confused, Kent cracked open his eyes and heaved himself into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. When he looked around, he found Javvy leaning against the TV stand, arms crossed over his chest.

Javvy was eyeing him critically. “You all right?”

“Yeah, fine,” Kent answered, even as the events of the previous night flooded back to him and he could feel himself both flushing in embarrassment at Javvy witnessing his hysterics and also sagging with grief at the events and realizations that had brought them on in the first place. 

Glancing down at himself, he saw that he was in a fresh t-shirt and sweats. Javvy must have helped him change clothes. But Javvy himself was wearing the same clothes he had the day before, his shirt distinctly rumpled.

“Did you stay the night?” Kent asked in surprise. There was only one bed in the room, and while he honestly didn’t care that Javvy had slept in it with him, Javvy had never struck him as the warm and cuddly type.

“Though you should have someone stay on hand in case you needed something,” Javvy said with a casual shrug. “Fell asleep while I was keeping watch.”

A powerful feeling burst through Kent, strong enough to even momentarily outweigh his sadness from his conversation with Jack, and it took several seconds to recognize that he was feeling genuine, honest-to-God affection for Javvy. Javvy, who was so carefully protective of the Aces’ reputation, had spent the night when he suspected Kent had been using, just to make sure he was okay. He could have tossed his hands up in the air and walked away and left Kent on his own, he could have called up someone else and made it their problem and not his, but he’d stayed to take care of Kent, and protected Kent’s privacy along with it.

“Thank you,” Kent forced out, somewhat stunned that Javvy had even bothered with him. He raised his eyes to meet Javvy’s directly. “For helping me last night and for keeping it between us.”

Javvy gave him a small smile. “It wasn’t a big deal.” His smile faded as he scrutinized Kent again. “Look, Parson, at this point, I really don’t think you were using last night, but you were still really fucked up. You sure you’re all right?”

Kent wasn’t, but he forced himself to nod. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just had a rough night last night, that’s all.”

Though Javvy didn’t seem like he believed him, he accepted Kent’s answer. “We all have those sometimes,” he said, his voice not unkind. Then he hesitated before adding, “If you have another one, let me know, and I’ll help you out.”

Kent wasn’t planning on ever repeating this scenario, and he sincerely doubted he would ever put himself in a position to be so thoroughly rejected ever again like he had been by Jack, but he figured he owed Javvy his agreement. And truth be told, he was kind of touched by how Javvy was going out of his way to be nice to him. “Sure.”

“Hmph.” Javvy cast him a skeptical glance, but straightened and began heading for the door. “I’ve gotta change clothes before we leave for the airport.”

Out of politeness, Kent walked him to the door and pulled it open for him, but was startled to find Swoops on the other side, his hand raised and poised to knock.

“Oh, hey,” Kent managed to offer after a moment or two, startled at Swoops’s arrival.

“Uh, hi,” Swoops said slowly, looking at Kent and then at Javvy.

Javvy was the only one of them unperturbed. “I was just leaving,” he told Swoops as he started down the hall. “And I mean it, Parson. Call me if you need me,” he said over his shoulder, before vanishing into his own room just a few doors down.

Kent found himself alone with Swoops, whose eyebrows were raised despite a slightly crestfallen expression.

“Anything I can do for you, man?” Kent asked, trying not to be rude but very conscious that he needed to get up and start getting ready. He wanted to take a shower, too. A real one, not like the one last night.

Swoops offered him a smile, but it looked fake. “Just checking to make sure you were up. Especially since no one could get ahold of you last night.” He looked away for a moment, letting out a deep breath that sounded suspiciously close to a sigh, then turned back, still with his fake smile. “So, you and Javvy, huh? When did that happen?”

“Me and—?” Kent blinked as he realized what Swoops was thinking, and he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. It felt good to laugh. “Oh, we didn’t. This wasn’t, uh, that. I just had a goddamn awful night, and he wanted to make sure I was okay.” Even though there was no way Swoops could know the details, Kent found himself self-consciously combing his hand through his hair as he spoke.

“Oh.” Swoops relaxed a lot. “Well, that’s great. Uh, what I mean is—” he fumbled, quickly trying to backtrack. “That you had someone to take care of you,” he added hastily. He gave Kent a smile. “I know it took him a while to warm up to you, but I’m glad he did.”

“Me, too,” Kent agreed. “Hey, listen, I have to get ready, but save me a seat next to you on the plane, okay?”

Swoops grinned at him, and suddenly Kent felt like he was floating, the weight of Jack’s rejection totally inconsequential.

“Will do,” he promised, and when Kent closed the door and hurried to get ready, he sternly told himself that he wasn’t rushing because of Swoops.

* * *

By the time they got into Vegas that evening, the sun hung low in the horizon, lengthening the shadows and bathing the world around them in a soft, honey-colored glow that was tinged with pink at the edges. 

His phone buzzed with a notification when he was able to turn it off of airplane mode, and Kent was startled to find that he’d missed a call from Alicia. He checked to see if she’d left a voicemail, but couldn’t find anything.

After agonizing over it for several minutes, he reluctantly decided to send her text explaining why he couldn’t pick up. 

**_Kent Parson_ **

_Sorry I missed your call. I was on the plane._

While he was tempted to ask her if she knew about his confrontation with Jack, he also wasn’t sure that he wanted an answer, and when she replied, he couldn’t tell if she was thinking of it or not.

**_Alicia Zimmermann_ **

_No problem. Just checking to see if you made it back safely._

He wanted to stay and puzzle over her choice of words, analyze all the hidden meanings that might be there, but his teammates were beginning to unboard, leaving him with no choice but to follow suit. 

Besides, as he made his way down the ramp, it occured to Kent that while the pain of Jack’s rejection still brought a sharp ache to throb within him, it also now seemed a lifetime away. Plus, even though it wasn’t easy to endure or accept, it was also something that he’d known deep down would always happen.

He’d always miss the Jack and the Zimmermanns. Kent was sure of it. But now that he was back in Vegas, he realized that he felt like he fit in more here, with the teammates who liked him and valued him.

As Swoops sidled up to keep pace with him and put an arm around his shoulders, and Javvy passed by and gave him a friendly thump on the back, Kent had a distinct notion that he’d be able to get over Jack sooner rather than latter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!


	6. Swoops Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!

**+1.**

* * *

As far as Kent was concerned, life couldn’t get any better than winning the Stanley Cup with his team. Hell, not only did they win, but Kent himself scored the winning goal against the Capitals. As his teammates clustered around him to grab him and squeeze him tightly, shouting themselves hoarse with excitement and congratulations, Kent thought his heart would explode with happiness.

He’d proven himself. Whatever the media might have to say, whatever role they might try to cast him in as the Vegas party boy or the second choice draft pick, he had a Cup that said otherwise.

There was still another surprise awaiting him: an invitation to the Annual NHL Awards.

“Congratulations,” Katzy told him warmly as he placed a platter of eggs, toast, and hashbrowns in front of Kent at the breakfast table. “I was just thinking to myself that you had a really good shot at winning the Calder.”

Kent could barely tear his eyes away from the invitation to look at Katzy, and not just because he was more than a little big hungover from their celebration the previous night. “It’s not just the Calder. I’m also in the running for the Hart. And I’ve got the Art Ross.”

Katzy threw back his head and laughed, pulling Kent into a solid bear hug. “Atta boy! Knew you had it in you, kid.” He let Kent go, only to point to his plate. “Eat up. You already need the carbs to soak up all the booze you chugged last night, but you’ll really need them to write your acceptance speech.”

Though he obediently picked up a fork, Kent fiddled with it for a moment as he watched Katzy, trying to gather his nerves. He was still texting with Bob and Alicia, and none of them had ever mentioned the incident with Jack. Still, even though he knew he might seem them at the awards ceremony anyway, he wasn’t sure if it would be too much, too soon if he asked them to officially attend with him. 

He cleared his throat. “Hey, I know usually the winners have their families with them for the ceremony,” he hedged. “I won’t have anyone coming, so I was wondering if, well . . maybe you’d like to go with me?”

Surprise briefly flashed across Katzy’s face but he nonetheless grinned at Kent. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, kid. Who you gonna bring as your plus one?”

Kent hesitated only for a moment, trying to keep his voice casual. “I, uh, actually was thinking of maybe inviting Swoops,” he replied.

Katzy’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really?”

“Just as a friend,” Kent added hastily. “You know. I mean, he got me a gift for Christmas and I didn’t get one for him. So, I figure this is going to be a way of making it up to him? You know.”

“Oh, yeah, it makes perfect sense,” Katzy said dryly. “You skimp out on getting him a Christmas present, so you bring him as your date to the NHL Awards. The natural solution.”

“I’m just taking him as a _friend_ ,” Kent insisted. 

Even as he spoke the words, he couldn’t deny a certain yearning for the night to honestly be a real date between himself and Swoops.

* * *

When the NHL Awards rolled around a few weeks later, Kent was already flying high. With Bracky retiring from hockey, the Aces needed a new captain, and Kent himself had been named, setting a new record as the youngest player in the history of the NHL to be chosen as captain, in addition to the record he’d already set as the youngest Ross winner. He could barely believe any of it, and winning the Calder only made it seem less real. 

But as he sat in his chair, stunned and barely registered Swoops and Katzy’s enthusiastic congratulations, and then listened to the thunderous applause as he climbed to the stage on unsteady legs to make his acceptance speech, he couldn’t hold back an ecstatic grin. 

At long last, people were finally starting to sit up and pay attention to what he could do, not who his family was or the chaos that had surrounded them all.

Admittedly, Kent didn’t get the Hart, but he was more than happy for Sedin to be declared the winner, and told the media so when they asked him about it. He’d earned it, Kent knew, and besides, no point in wasting all of his good luck in one night. 

And he wasn’t going to lie: it was really cool when Sedin came over and shook his hand and congratulated him for just getting the nomination and the Calder. Kent couldn’t deny that he was left a little starstruck by the encounter and found himself offering to show Sedin around Vegas if he ever wanted to visit.

“From tourist to tour guide, huh?” Swoops cracked, thumping Kent on the back as he grinned like a doofus at Sedin’s departing back. “Look how far you’ve come in just a year.” 

Kent let out a laugh, feeling giddy with all the recognition he’d been receiving. It was grounding to have a teammate there to chirp him. “Well, I learned from the best, Swoops,” he told him. “I’ll never forget that day we spent together.”

For a moment, Swoops paused, tilting his head at him speculatively. “Really? Huh. That’s—well—that’s really good.”

A beat of silence settled in their trio for the moment, rendered all the more obvious by the buzz of conversations and greetings taking place all around them. To Kent it seemed oddly tense, and Katzy seemed to be watching Swoops in amusement, while Swoops seemed vaguely embarrassed, though Kent had no idea as to why. 

Overcome by the feeling that he was missing something important, Kent glanced at Katzy, who looked amused, back at Swoops, who deliberately turned his face away, then back to Katzy, wondering what was going on.

Upon seeing his confusion, Katzy gave a fond roll of his eyes. “You two enjoy yourselves here. I’m off to congratulate Bryzgalov on his nomination.” With a conciliatory clap on the shoulder to Swoops, he went off, leaving the two of them alone.

Swoops turned to watch him go, before turning back to Kent, smiling this time, but his shoulders were still tensed. “Hey, the courtyard is open, and it’s a little bit crowded in here. Want to check it out before we try to hit one of the bars?”

Kent grinned at him, relieved that the awkward moment, what had caused it, was now over. “Sure.”

They made their way to the outdoor courtyard, stopping several times for Kent to shake hands as various hockey players and figures congratulated him on his awards, before managing to slip outside. Not many others were out there, seeming to prefer the bars inside, and once the two of them descended the wide staircase, they found themselves in a lush garden with winding paths, ornamental trees, and trellises covered in vibrant flowers and vines. Dense agave plants thrived right beside small, barrel-shaped cacti and tall, eye-catching blooms.

Kent grinned at the sight, taking it all in. “You know, that is one thing I like about Vegas,” he remarked to Swoops conversationally.

The comment seemed to snap Swoops out of intense thought. “Hmm? What was that?” he asked, glancing at Kent.

Not sure he knew how to explain it, Kent just shrugged, sweeping a hand at the extensive gardens around him. “You know. That things can be more than just pretty. I mean, yeah, Vegas is all about appealing to tourists, and it definitely ain’t always tasteful, but I like that they can have something as rugged and prickly as a cactus in their fancy gardens instead of just boring flowers.” He looked at Swoops to see if he understood. “I just like that it doesn’t always have to be something that’s dressed up and pretty to be worthwhile. It can be something simple and even dangerous, like a cactus, and people still want to have a bunch of them in their fancy hotel flowerbed.”

Swoops laughed slightly, relaxing a little bit. “No, I get what you mean. And yeah, I like that it’s more than just your typical garden, too.” He took a moment or two to study the garden. “Thinking about it, some parts of it remind me of our hikes together last summer.”

Kent nodded. “Yeah, speaking of last summer, what about this summer? Is our trip together still on?” He nudged Swoops in the ribs with his elbow. “You going to take me someplace nice?” he teased.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Jeff said slowly. “And before we go any place, I think there’s something I should tell you.”

“So tell me,” Kent said easily, even as he steeled himself for the worst, to hear that Jeff wasn’t interested anymore.

“Okay,” Jeff replied.

And then he grabbed Kent and kissed him good and hard.

Several seconds passed before Kent fully registered what was happening, certain at first that he must be mistaken. But there could be no mistake; Swoops had one hand around Kent’s waist and another at the back of his head, holding him close, as he firmly and unhesitatingly pressed his lips to Kent’s.

A cacophony of thoughts exploded in Kent’s head the instant he realized what was going on, ranging from admiring the strength and solidness of Swoops’s hold on him and hoping he grabbed him like that more often in the future, to the moronic and desperate wish that he’d remembered to take an Altoid or two before the ceremony.

And yet, when Swoops released Kent and leaned back to see his reaction, Kent couldn’t even manage to string together a sentence.

“Um, uh, that was—well—” he fumbled, despairing at his sudden inability to speak.

“Yeah,” Swoops said, and he didn’t sound too happy. He released Kent entirely, his expression crestfallen. “Yeah, I get it.” With that, he wheeled around, shoving his hands into his pockets and beginning to walk away. 

His head spinning at the suddenness of Jeff’s actions, Kent was left standing there dumbly, blinking, wondering what the hell had just happened and how he’d fucked up in such a short amount of time.

Swoops had kissed him. After all the times he’d fantasized about Swoops kissing him, now he’d actually done it in real life.

Now Swoops was walking away.

Kent had to stop him. Run to him and explain.

Still blinking, Kent went to turn and chase after Swoops and explain, but the moment he pivoted around, he was left standing there, frozen in place, staring at the two individuals approaching him, hand in hand, passing by Swoops as he departed.

It was Bob and Alicia Zimmermann, walking toward him like figures from a dream. In fact, he had to shut his eyes for a moment and then open them again to convince himself they were actually there. 

They looked just like he remembered them, appearing relaxed and collected but not cold, instead radiating warmth and ease, an ever-present air that endeared them to fans and media alike. They complimented each other well, he observed vaguely, not for the first time. Alicia’s tall, slim form had her standing only a few inches shorter than Bob’s six-foot-two frame. Her wheat-gold hair stood out against the black fabric of his designer suit that was, of course, tailored specifically for his tall and broad-shouldered build. 

Neither of them were dressed especially flashy, but Kent thought they looked good regardless. Alicia’s ice-blue gown was simple and sleek, going well with her eyes, and her jewelry was tasteful and understated, the most noticeable pieces her dangling earrings that framed her face. Her hair had been swept back into a loose but glamorous chignon, and, with a surge of bittersweet memory, Kent thought he could recall her wearing her hair in that same style to his and Jack’s high school graduation, only a little over a year ago.

When his gaze shifted to look at Bob, Kent’s eyes didn’t pay much attention to his attire, instead immediately searching for his right wrist, seeking out the familiar gleam of an ever-present Rolex; Bob always wore one of the many he had in his collection. Kent had always been impressed by Bob’s taste in watches and had long loved that it was Bob’s signature accessory, even while Jack had groused about how corny it was. Bob’s interest had been infectious, inspiring Kent’s own in spite of himself.

As Kent watched, the metal face of the Rolex winked proudly from just beneath Bob’s jacket, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was no daydream or hallucination, that Bob and Alica were truly there with him.

He stood there, barely able to keep his mouth from hanging open, as they halted in front of him.

“Hello Kent,” Alicia said gently. “Do you have a moment? Could we talk?”

“Just for a moment,” Bob added, with a small smile that was a touch sad. “We don’t want to keep you from your celebration.”

“I . . . sure,” Kent managed to grate out, too stunned to have offered much of a protest even if he’d wanted to.

Thoughts and emotions were racing through his mind at a dizzying speed. As often and as desperately as he’d wished to see Zimmermanns again, he’d never dared picture the scenario in his mind, afraid that hoping too hard would somehow jinx himself and separate himself from them forever.

“Thank you,” Bob said, the sheer gratitude in his eyes almost difficult for Kent to witness

Turning to Alicia, Kent opened his mouth to speak to her, summoning up some mundane small talk he used at galas or with the WAGs, but was startled into silence at the sight of several tears beginning to trickle down her face. Wordlessly, he whipped out the handkerchief from his suit and offered it to her.

She accepted it with a smile, taking it with one French-manicured hand while brushing the other affectionately through Kent’s hair.

“Always a gentleman,” she said, dabbing impatiently at her eyes and looking at him fondly. “You really did turn out to be a good man, Kent.”

Mouth dry, Kent turned from Alicia to Bob, struggling to comprehend what was taking place. The Zimmermanns were being so friendly, so warm to him, almost gentle. And yet they hadn’t mentioned even a word that they might try to speak with him today. Why wouldn’t they have said anything?

“What’s going on?” he asked, his bewilderment leading to his tone coming out sharper than intended. “What did you want to talk about?”

Alicia opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it again, exchanging a glance with Bob. Then it was Bob who spoke.

“We wanted to congratulate you,” he told Kent quietly, looking at him with a sincere gaze, even if it was a touch melancholy. “You’ve had a phenomenal season. You’ve done such amazing things. I can’t even tell you how proud we are of everything you’ve accomplished.”

Still overcome with disbelief, Kent only gave a cautious nod, wondering if there was some catch to this sudden reunion. “Right.”

He didn’t mean to sound skeptical, but he must have, but Bob and Alicia exchanged a glance, guilt written all over both of their faces.

It was Alicia who spoke next. “We also wanted to apologize.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “For leaving you mostly on your own for the past year. It wasn’t . . . it wasn’t our intention. We didn’t want it to happen that way. But we let it happen, and we take full responsibility. So we want to make it clear that we regret what we did.”

While Kent didn’t think he could become any more astonished than he already was, the fresh wave of shock that washed over him proved him wrong.

They regretted it. They regretted not talking to him for that first six months, and evidently they regretted the last six months, too.

Did they regret not coming to see him sooner?

Kent wanted to believe that. He really, really wanted to believe that.

Glancing from Bob’s face to Alicia’s, Kent could read the plain sincerity there. They weren’t just offering an apology for the sake of image or politeness.

Opening his mouth, Kent wasn’t quite sure what he was going to say, and an unexpected question emerged.

“What took you so long?” he asked, his tone a little bit more desperate than he would have liked. “That first couple of months—why—why didn’t you call me? Just once. To tell me what was going on. I must have left a dozen voicemails for each of you. But you didn’t contact me at all until Christmas.”

“We should have called,” Bob said quietly. “We—” he broke off for a moment, a muscle in his throat working frantically. “We wanted to. Believe me. We did.” His eyes were starting to look moist, and he had to glance away before looking back at Kent. “But once you were off to Vegas and Jack was going off to rehab, we just felt like we shouldn’t. We already felt like we’d failed Jack . . .”

He trailed off and didn’t continue, looking away again. Alicia picked up for him.

“We already thought we’d failed as parents where Jack was concerned, that we’d ruined his life,” she said, looking at Kent unflinchingly. “We didn’t want to do the same thing to you. Not when you were just starting your career. Thus the reason for keeping our distance. We told ourselves that we were being,” she swallowed, “noble. That we were doing what was best for you. But deep down we knew it wasn’t right, that we owed you more, so much more. And we can’t apologize enough for not giving you that.”

Kent didn’t know what to think. What to feel. What he should say to them. He wanted to be happy, wanted to be overjoyed that Bob and Alicia had sought him out again, but they were here for a reason. And he wasn’t sure if he had the capacity to give them what they needed.

“We wanted to call,” Bob admitted, a wretched type of expression weighing on his features. “I know that doesn’t make a difference, since we didn’t, but we realized that the way we were treating you wasn’t right. But we thought that you were doing so well on your own, without us, that we weren’t sure that it would be any help to you to hear from us. After a while, we started texting, but we knew even that was too little, too late. But it was what we could manage for the time being, so that’s what we did.”

“But you’re here now,” Kent pointed out. He didn’t recognize his own voice as the words seemed to spill from his mouth without his permission.

“We are,” Bob acknowledged. His face held a range of various emotions: pride, sadness, and shame all at once. “When we were first invited, we debated about whether we should try to speak with you or not. We ultimately chose to use our time here to congratulate you and also apologize for the mistakes we’ve made with you. And—” he hesitated, an uncertain expression on his face that Kent could never remember seeing before. “We’ve decided to let you make the decision if you’d prefer to have contact with us or not from this point forward.”

They wanted him to decide? Was it even a question? Even in the midst of his shock, an overwhelming impulse, an answer of one single word blazed into Kent’s mind, the intensity of it pushing away any doubt. Yaks’s words from Christmas, a half a year ago now, darted through his head: _“Family make mistake about you. They will realize. Maybe they already do.”_

But Jack hadn’t realized.

“I stopped by the house not long after Christmas,” Kent felt obligated to tell them. The words stuck in his throat. “I talked to Jack. He . . .” How could he even begin to describe Jack’s flat belligerence on that? “He told me he didn’t want to see me again.”

A look passed between Bob and Alicia again, plain weariness shadowing Alicia’s face and disappointment and grief momentarily flickering over Bob’s.

Alicia seemed to be choosing her words very carefully. “Jack might still need some time,” she said evenly. “He’s out of rehab for now, but he’s still working on himself and his own troubles. But that doesn’t affect how we feel about you, Kent. Not in the slightest.”

“We weren’t home when you stopped by. We didn’t know about your visit until earlier this month,” Bob told him, a vaguely haunted look glinting in his eyes for just a moment. “Jack told us just as we were finalizing our plans. Kenny, if we’d known what he’d said to—if we’d known how you were treated in the very place you used to call home—we would have reached out to you right afterward. I know that sounds hollow coming from us. I _know_ that. But I promise you, if we’d known that you’d taken the trouble to visit only to receive a dressing down from the absolute last person you needed to hear it from, we would have called you right away.” 

Nodding silently, Kent absorbed his words, studying Bob’s face and then Alicia’s. He believed them. He believed that they’d given him what they could when they’d first reached out, and now he truly believed they wanted a second chance at being an honest-to-God family once more, especially since they were openly admitting their mistakes. It hadn’t been easy road for any of them, he knew.

There could be no doubt that they’d hurt him. But they had the perspective to realize as much, and now they stood before him, offering their sincere regret.

“We completely understand if you’d prefer to remain at a distance,” Alicia put in. “But if you’d like for us to be here for you now, to be your parents again, then we can do that, too. We couldn’t bring ourselves to do it beforehand, and we know that was wrong. We won’t make that mistake again.” Haltingly, cautiously, she rested a hand on Kent’s shoulder, only for a moment. “But it’s your choice. Whatever you decide, we’ll respect your decision.” 

The words were barely out of Alicia mouth before Kent replied.

“Yes,” he said, immediately and certainly. “Yes, I want us to be a family again.”

Alicia and Bob looked taken aback at his instant decision, shooting glances at each other and then at him. 

“Kenny, if you’d like to take some time to think, we’d be fine—” Bob began, but Kent cut him off.

“I don’t need time,” he said, doubt briefly flitting into his mind before he barreled onward. “I’ve had my time to think. I’ve had a year to consider if I would let you back into my life or not. And my answer is yes.”

Bob opened his mouth again, but Kent held up a hand, silencing him.

“Hang on. Give me a chance to finish.” He looked directly at one and then the other, his heart pounding. He could barely comprehend that this moment was real, that Bob and Alicia truly did want him again.

“I’m not going to lie. You really did hurt me by cutting me off without an explanation. It sucked. There’s no other word for it. I was left completely alone. But I get that you were hurting, too. I get that it must have been the end of the world for you both when Jack overdosed. I know your priority at that point had to be getting him into rehab. And I know it must have been like a suckerpunch to the gut for you to be hearing about everything I was doing when Jack was detoxing and his life was on hold.

“So I get it. People do dumb things when they’re hurting.” His disastrous reunion with Jack surfaced in his brain and lingered, but Kent didn’t want to concentrate on that, not for right now. “And I can forgive that. I’ve been through a lot this past year,” he said, looking steadily at both of them, “but I know I’m not the only one. It meant so much to me when you finally started texting, you have no idea. And you have no idea what this means to me now.” He took a deep breath and offered them a smile as the possibilities of all that he could have again fully registered. “Let’s start over, shall we?”

He stepped closer to them, and from that point on, he couldn’t remember who initiated the embrace, if it was himself or Bob and Alicia, but it ultimately didn’t matter. Because as he stood there, his arms wrapped around each of their shoulders and the two of them holding him tightly in turn, it felt _right_ to him in a way that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It felt like he was home.

For several moments, they stayed that way, clutching each other tightly, before Kent pulled away slightly to address them both.

“Feel up for a bit of socializing?” he asked, still smiling. “I have some people I want you to meet.”

* * *

He found Swoops on a lounge sofa near one of the bars, nursing a gin and tonic that didn’t seem to be his first. Katzy was there beside him, speaking to him lowly, a sharp contrast to the laughter and lively conversation going on all around them. Katzy spotted his approach first and nudged Swoops with his elbow, who turned to look at Kent warily.

Kent pretended he didn’t notice it. “Guys, I want you to meet some very important people in my life. This is Bob and Alicia Zimmermann. Bob and Alicia, this is Ashton Katzenberg, the gentleman who’s been letting me shack up with him for the past ten months,” he thumped Katzy appreciatively on the back, “and Jeff Troy, the guy who showed me the ins and outs of Vegas.”

This time, he looped an arm around Jeff’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “He’s also someone extremely special to me,” Kent added, and followed it up by giving Swoops a light peck on the cheek.”

Swoops froze at that, turning to look at Kent, an expression of mixed hope and disbelief on his face, and Kent took the opportunity to lean in and kiss him again, this time on the lips. 

When he broke away, Swoops grinned goofily at him, but he also reached out and gripped Kent’s hand tightly, a hold that Kent returned readily, a rush of happiness filling him, dazzling him in a way he never thought possible. He sat back almost dreamily, while Katzy just chuckled at him, looking both relieved and pleased

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Bob said warmly, shaking Katzy’s hand and then Swoops’s.

“Why don’t we go get a table?” Alicia suggested, as she shook hands as well. She caught Kent’s eye. “As long as it’s all right with you, Kent. We could all catch up.”

“More than all right,” Kent replied. He was so elated felt like he’d never be able to stop smiling, and to be honest, his face kind of hurt, but he didn’t care.

They rose and started making their way to the dining area, Alicia and Bob leading the way. Katzy was already engaging them on their opinion of Vancouver as the Olympic City for that coming winter.

Kent found himself falling into step beside Swoops, still holding his hand. As they walked, Swoops’s gaze sought out his, and Kent grinned up at him, his heart thrumming in his chest, thrilled to the very core of his being. 

“We’re good, yeah?” Swoops asked him quietly, smiling but still not seeming able to entirely believe it. “Being with me, introducing me to your family as your boyfriend—this is what you want?”

Kent leaned against Swoops, resting his head on his broad shoulder. “Believe me,” he said sincerely, looking directly into Swoops’s warm dark eyes. “This night is _everything_ I could ever want. Being with you is absolutely what I want.” 

Swoops just grinned wordlessly at him and leaned in to press a soft but sound kiss to Kent’s forehead. Kent’s skin tingled at the touch.

He was still smiling as they passed into the dining room and glancing around, noticing that it was what he’d come to expect from Vegas. More trendy polished chrome than hardwood, more white sleekness than actual color or texture, more razzle dazzle than actual atmosphere. But somehow, Kent couldn’t bring himself to mind very much.

Vegas. Christ, he’d hated it at first. Hated that he’d been stuck there, away from his family, his best friend thousands of miles away.

But it had been on the tourist-ridden streets of Vegas where he’d gotten to know Swoops and his other teammates. It was Vegas where a stranger had taken him into his home and let him live there. It had been with the Vegas team where Kent had firmly established himself as a legitimately talented player. It had been Vegas where Kent carved a place for himself in League history by being named captain just days before his nineteenth birthday. 

It had been in Vegas where he’d reunited with his family and had finally made his feelings clear to Swoops. 

Vegas. At one point he’d loathed the sight of it. And even now, after all the pieces had fallen into place, Kent still didn’t think of it as home.

But, Kent realized, as he sat down with Bob on one side and Jeff on the other, still holding his hand, now he could picture a day, one not far off in the future, where he actually might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! If you ever want to chat, here's my [Tumblr](http://maeve-of-winter.tumblr.com/). I love discussion and hearing people's thoughts, so feel free to submit headcanons, fic ideas, or just talk about Kent!


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